Conviction
by OurLittleSecretOkay
Summary: If you like happy stories, you've come to the wrong place
1. Chapter 1

She threw her arms about him, clinging to him. He was taller than she was, she was disappointed to note, as she buried her face in his shoulder, overwhelmed in her joy.

He held her back, a sudden look of alarm across his face, "What are you doing here?"

"I- I'm here for you! I'm here to save you! The building is about to collapse!"

"Yes I know! Wow, you're hair's so different! I love it, but wow!"

She stared at him, shocked, "You know?"

"About the fire? Yeah, I assume you mean the upper building, the one you just came from?"

"Fire? And no, the entire building!"

He smiled as if suddenly understanding, "Don't worry, not this part. We're protected here. Come on," he tugged at her arm. Most of the kids who had been watching them became bored and went on the way, but an intrepid few stayed. It felt silly for her to worry about making a spectacle of herself, but she suddenly felt very self-conscious. Gripping his arm tightly, she pulled him closer to herself.

"How do you know about the building collapse?"

He shoved his glasses up with one finger, "How could I not know? It's been orchestrated for months."

She felt her face pale, "Months?"

"Yes, of course. I mean, the building is far too old to be of any use anyway, so why not use it for some good?"

"Klaus, I don't know what you're talking about. What do you mean orchestrated?"

He peered at her confusedly, "What do you mean, what do I mean? You know about the collapse, yes?"

"I know about _a_ collapse, but I don't know that we're talking about the same one."

"This building? Right now? Right when everything's finally falling into place and you just happen to show up?"

"What do you mean 'falling into place'?"

"You have to know they're here. Why else would you be here right on time? They love fire so much, they won't expect it to turn against them. They've been outsmarted at their own game, Violet." The victory in his smile unsettled her.

"It's been planned all along," she whispered the words, growing cold.

"I mean, you must have known. How else would you get here at the same time?" He held his hands out to her, grinning furiously before enveloping her in another hug, "So how did you get away? When did you get away? Why didn't you ever write back? Violet, where have you been? The Quagmires had said they'd seen you, but we lost you after the fire." She didn't have an opportunity to answer, her thoughts spinning at a dangerous speed between questions. "Can you believe all of this?" He held his hands out, palms up, excitedly. She felt woozy as she stared at him.

"So it's a trap?"

He tilted his head, amusedly concerned, "Of course it's a trap."

"You're okay with this?"

"I- You're not? You're confused Violet, it's fine. Come on, we'll get you something to eat, let's go."

Her gut clenched as she grabbed his arms tightly, "Klaus, we have to stop this now."

"Stop? What-"

"Klaus! I didn't get away! I came here with them. I'm only here right now because I didn't-"

"Is that what this is? Listen, Violet, it's fine. No one could possibly hold that against you. You're here now, we're together, and you're going to do so much good."

"You're not listening-we need to find Sunny, and we need to go."

"Go? Violet, no. You're confused; it's fine. We won't be hurt down here," he gestured towards the walls. "We're safe. You're safe. It's over now, after this they'll never be able to hurt anyone again. Can you even fathom how many people we'll be helping? Well, not _us_ , but someday-" He gripped her tightly, staring into her eyes intensely.

"I can't let them- I can't-" she tried to pull back, looking over her shoulder, terrified.

"It's okay, don't worry. It's all completely foolproof. It's almost over, you don't need to be scared anymore. There's no room for villainy here." He tugged at her hands, trying to pull her forward.

She stayed rooted to the spot, feeling her axis shift. She wanted to believe him, wanted this to be right, but it couldn't, no matter how badly she wanted it. She took a deep breath in, steeling herself.

"Klaus, are you safe?"

"There's no safer place to be! But come on-"

"I mean with them. Are you safe here? Are you okay?"

He squeezed her hands, smiling, "Violet. We're completing our parents' work, making the world better. There is no safer place for us to be."

She swallowed down a sob, trying very hard to fight the pinprick of oncoming tears, "And Sunny? Is she safe?"

"Better than safe-she's thriving. She's absolutely brilliant, Violet, absolutely brilliant- Come on, come see for yourself. God, we've missed you so much. You never answered, by the way, why'd you stop writing?" He tugged at her hand, but she didn't move.

"Tell her that I love her, okay? Tell her just how incredibly much I love her."

"If you'd hurry along, you can tell her yourself! After we get you something to eat, of course."

She shook her head, "I can't. There's not enough time." She wasn't able to stop the tears anymore, silent streams running down her cheeks.

He regarded her, confused, "What do you mean there's not enough time? We have plenty of time."

She hugged him tightly, savoring every moment that she had, "I love you. I love you so much more than I could ever say, even if I did have the time,"

"Violet, you're scaring me. Come on, let's go."

"Mom and Dad would be so proud of you. I'm so proud of you." She squeezed his arm, and then turning quickly, turned around and began to run back.


	2. Chapter 2

She sprinted through the halls, trying very hard to ignore the screaming pain in her ankle, shutting the door behind her. She looked around the empty library frantically-she needed to be sure he wouldn't come after her. Throwing all of her weight against it, she shoved one of the shelves over, the wooden case hitting the ground with a snapping sound, landing at such an angle so that the door wouldn't be able to be opened. She turned and began to run again; she didn't have time for the tears on her face, the agony in her chest as she sprinted, her lungs burning with a need for air.

Suddenly she was thrust forward, a booming sound shoving her down. She pushed herself up, scrambling with her hands to race up the stairs. The heavy scent of scorched plaster filled the air, an uncomfortable warmth chasing her. She made it to the large circle room before there was a second boom, the crystalline chandelier shaking, a few glass droplets falling to the floor.

She fell hard, watching terrified as the plaster of the ceiling began to crumble and fall around her. Gasping sharply, she tried to shove the air back into her lungs, but the fall had knocked the wind out of her. She pushed herself up, every bit of her insides raw with pain. A flickering glow spilled out from behind her, close on her heels.

One of the walls of the hallways behind her gave a loud crack, folding in. She scrambled to her feet, trying to stand but her ankle buckled beneath her, bringing her back down to the ground. Pulling herself to her knees, she tried to make her way towards the hallway, coughing in the clouds of dust and smoke. A deep heat swelled around her, the horribly familiar crackle of fire building.

The ground shook menacingly beneath her, then the chandelier fell with a deafening snap, thousands of glass droplets scattering across the floor. She cried out, covering her face with her arm.

"You goddamn idiot!" A familiar pair of hands grabbed her roughly, lifting her by the waist. She stumbled as her angry savior righted her, helping her stand before her ankle faltered beneath her. Crouching down, he wrapped his arms beneath her legs and lifted her over his shoulder. She still had presence enough to be somewhat insulted, but that quickly passed with the next deafening crack.

She was an absolute moron, definitely more trouble than she was worth. He grit his teeth as he began to carry her, running as fast as he could manage.

"Still feel so big and clever?"

"It was a trap!" She shoved herself up against his back, trying to yell above the din.

"Obviously! Were you not listening earlier?"

"No, it was their trap!"

"We'll talk about this later, preferably when you're not contriving to get me killed in the most roundabout way possible."

They reached the end of the hall he had been headed down, surrounded by empty wall.

"There's nothing here!" She shoved against him again, trying to get down.

"You don't know these bastards like I do." Reaching up, he shoved a panel of the ceiling, which opened up, allowing him to pull down a ladder. He dropped her onto it, shoving her upwards, "Go- climb." Her leg was unsteady beneath her, and she frantically tried to pull herself up. "Goddamn it, Violet!" He climbed up behind her, and then wrapping his arms around her thighs, shoved her up to the landing. She scrambled, trying to right herself as he followed.

They were in a tunnel, the dark smell of the earth surrounding them. Hoisting her up bridal style, he began to run as best he could, crouched so that he wouldn't hit his head.

"You're goddamn lucky, do you know that?"

His voice was angry, and she was startled to find that she was still crying. Finally, they spilled out into the open air, tumbling a bit in the brightness.

She shoved him, trying to get down, "We have to get away away!"

"I know," he did his best to put her down softly before bracing himself against his knees, breathing heavily. "It must have been less stable than we thought."

"No, listen to me!" She shifted her weight to her uninjured leg, "They planned for this! They knew!"

He screwed up his face, staring at her, "What are you on about?"

"I don't know, I just- we don't have time, come on! Where are the others?"

Straightening up, he looked around, "If they make it, they'll know to meet us back where we stopped."

"They won't know the entire area is unsafe!"

"They'll figure it out quickly enough."

"We can't leave them!"

"We most certainly can, come on."

"I'm not leaving until we find them!"

"Well okay then, if that's how it's going to be-" grabbing her, he threw her over his shoulder again.

She swung at him, angrily screeching as she continued to hit his back fruitlessly, "Stop it! Stop! We have to find them!"

"You've already jeopardized my life once today, I won't have you doing it again."

"Then put me down and I'll find them!"

"Why do you care so damn much anyway?" He had to shout to be heard above her yells.

"We can't leave our people behind! We can't!" He could hear in her tone that she was crying.

"Alright, alright, I'll go. But I can't have you slowing me down, so would you please just stay and wait?"

"You have to bring them back, we can't leave without them!"

"I know, I know, so you've said. If I wasn't so pissed at you right now, I'd be worried that you're having an affair."

"This is serious!" she shrieked.

"As am I, but if you don't stop yelling, I will leave, do you understand?"

She didn't answer, angry tears pouring down her face. It was all for nothing. They hadn't accomplished anything. In fact, she'd single-handedly ruined the only good that might have come from this. She watched the scene disappear over the craggy horizon as he continued along the invisible path back to where they had started. She wept silently, the tears tracing wet trails down her cheeks, leaving a splattering of droplets on the rocks they passed.

Eventually he placed her down on top of a relatively tall rock, hoping that the height would dissuade her from making an escape attempt.

"Now, would you please stay here?" She nodded silently, not meeting his gaze. Catching her chin between his fingers, he forced her to look at him, "I said, will you stay here?"

"Yes," she shoved his hand off.

"Good. I'll be back."

Turning around, he started back towards the distant rubble, leaving her alone.


	3. Chapter 3

"Can I ask for a moment's peace, or is that too unreasonable?" He didn't have to see her face to know the exact expression she was making; exasperation, indignation, and something akin to a dare. She faced towards the kitchen window, more fixed on the dishes than the task demanded, rubbing circles until he was sure she was going to bore straight through the plate.  
"Come now, it's a bit early for flattery, isn't it?"  
"Is there any chance of me convincing you to leave me alone?"  
"I doubt it."  
"Any particular thing I've done to incur such punishment?"  
"Well," coming up behind her, he rested his hands against her waist, "that neckline isn't particularly helping."  
"Let go, I'm still mad at you." Sidestepping, she removed herself from his grasp.  
"Come on, we both know you can't stay mad," reaching for her again, he kissed the back of her neck.  
"Really? Is that really something you want to bet?"  
"You're very easily… persuaded into my favor."  
"Alright, that's it. You're done. Get out."  
"Now, I hardly think you're being fair. Here I am, slaving away, and you can't even take yourself away from your things for five minutes for your poor, suffering husband?"  
"My th- I'm washing dishes, you idiot."  
"Is that anyway to speak to your lover?"  
"You're completely and utterly insufferable-you know that, right?"  
"All I ever do is try to help," languishingly, he stretched himself out so that he was exactly in her way, the back of a hand pressed to his forehead, "and nothing is ever good enough for demanding, needy Violet."  
"Yes, bravo. Quite the performance."  
"I receive no respect, no acknowledgement," theatrically, he threw his arm over his eyes in a grand show of distress. She giggled despite herself, quickly sifling the sound, but not quickly enough to keep him from catching it. Just barely suppressing a smirk, he continued. "All day long you beat and berate me and leave me for dishes."

"A wonderful, if inaccurate, performance. Inspiring, really. Now if you're quite done-"  
"Have you ever known me to be done?"  
"Fair enough."  
"Besides, has it ever occured to you that maybe I didn't come here to see you. Maybe I don't need an alibi or motive just to enter my own damn kitchen?"  
"In which case you'd be leaving me alone, yes?"  
"Why so eager to see me go? Have something to sneak off to?"  
"No, but it would serve you right."  
"For what?"  
"For whatever the hell this is." Her words were harsh but she smirked as she said them.  
"Oh yes? Well, maybe I'll sneak off then."  
"Alright."  
"Who knows, maybe I'll find a wife who appreciates my so-called 'interruptions.' One who likes me more than dishes."  
"Yes, good luck with that."  
"You're talking big for someone about to be fired."  
"When it's a marriage, I believe it's called divorce."  
"See, this attitude is exactly why I'm leaving you."  
"Oh, I'm sure," picking up a cloth, she began to dry a plate.  
"You don't think I can?"  
"I don't think you will."  
"Oh? What's keeping me?"  
Standing on her toes, she kissed him quick, with a smile, "You weren't smart enough to not get invested."  
"Oh, yes, because I really just love you so much," he scoffed as he said it, but leaning down, he kissed her again, encircling her waist.


	4. Chapter 4

The faithless wench. He'd walked away for a moment, and when he looked back, she was hanging onto his man. She reveled in his distraction, his pain. He shouldn't have bothered saving her, he thought bitterly. And yet…

His chest clattered like an empty cavern. Ruined. It was all ruined. Months of planning, all useless, all- he pressed his hands to his temples. He couldn't afford to get lost in his agony. There would be time enough for that later.

The idea of turning around, of just going back home was horrible. He was owed some sort of victory, some closure, but it all fell around him, crumbling uselessly. He glanced behind. She still clung to his man, holding herself up against him. Something within him stirred painfully. Her face was pale from the effort, but he only felt minimal pleasure at seeing her so undone. She deserved it, having refused to listen to him again. What could he possibly do with her?

He stopped for a moment, letting them catch up so that he could take her arm. She flinched at his grasp, pulling away ever so slightly. The motion burned within him painfully. The others continued on, electing to leave him alone, probably out of fear.

She wouldn't meet his gaze, leaning away from his touch. He held her arm fast, determined to have it out. She refused to look at him.

"So," he drawled slowly, throwing weight on his words, "are you happy?"

"No," her answer was soft, crisp.

"That's a good start." The callousness of his words didn't help as much as he had hoped. He didn't know what he wanted from her-an apology, an explanation? He held her arm tight as he walked, forcing her to keep up with his pace.

The pain shot through her leg like a searing flame. She grit her teeth against it, not wanting to give him the ability to say "I told you so." She didn't have to answer to him anymore. There was nothing for him to hold over her.

She wondered if brushing the tear off her cheek would draw attention to it. She didn't want him to know just how hard it was-she was being punished enough as it was, and he'd no doubt take advantage of it. She tried to discreetly keep her weight off of it, tried not to let it show, but she faltered, losing her step.

He sighed, and swinging his arm beneath her, lifted her weight easily.

"Do you know just how goddamn lucky you are?"

She didn't reply, turning her face away, not wanting to look at him.

"What? No acknowledgement? No 'thank you'?"

"I can walk fine-"

"No you fucking can't."

They didn't speak again the rest of the way to the car. He set her down once they were close enough that she could balance against the car. She slid into the back seat, feeling perturbedly calm in the mess of her chaos. Chaos was where she belonged.

The door shut closed with a bang. She closed her eyes, doing her best to separate herself from her surroundings. He closed the door behind him in the front, taking a long pull from the bottle of wine he had left behind. She looked out the window, feeling a serene sense of emptiness, as if all of this had, in fact, been inevitable.


	5. Chapter 5

He would have much rather walked back, he thought, than have to endure the agony and embarrassment of driving with all of them. What could he possibly say? "It turns out I am not infallible?" He couldn't admit any weakness, any self-flaw, but he was too tired for a plan B. It was a loss. They had lost this. It wasn't his fault, but still. It should have been perfect. It was supposed to be perfect.

He looked at her in the rearview mirror. She sat still, stiffly upright. She stared out the window to her right, watching the passing roads with glazed eyes. There wasn't much to see-it was dark now, and the dimness obscured the scenery. Her expressionless face revealed nothing. Up in the distance a spot of light grew larger. He gestured towards it weakly.

"Stop here."

He needed to get out of this damned car, away from his subordinates. He needed to be angry.

He glanced up at her again. She hadn't moved. It didn't even seem like she registered her surroundings at all.

The worry it sent within him was an unfamiliar feeling. He wanted to reach back, to tell her that it would all be okay. He didn't know that it would, of course, but the deadness in her eyes pierced him. He wanted to be home, in bed with her tucked beneath his arm. Everything was terrible, but at least she was safe.

It was so easy to forget who they were. It wasn't that she had become desensitized to the matter-she had simply managed to forget what kinds of things he was capable of. Maybe she had convinced herself that she had made him softer somehow. She didn't know, and it didn't matter now. How had things become so nice between them? She couldn't understand it, couldn't rationalize the kindness of his touch with the horror of his words. The dissonance in her understanding stretched her, pulling her thin. He was a terrible man. And yet, their moments hadn't all been bad, had they? Even now, she could look back on them with a retrospective comfort, and even an amount of longing. She so very much wished that this all could be simple, quiet.

She almost didn't notice that they were stopping until the monotonous lull of the moving horizon slowed. The men got out of the car gratefully, walking far enough off to escape the simmering rage their dear boss was emanating. She leaned back in the seat, planning on just taking her small reprieve of quiet. Olaf rapped on the window, startling her. He frowned, opening the door wordlessly, as if to draw her out.

She hesitated at the open door. He sighed, and reaching in, offered his hand. She took it uneasily, letting him pull her out into the open air. She faltered as she put weight on her foot. Catching her around the waist, he held her up. She was so light. How could she possibly be so much trouble?

She frowned, raising her hand to his head, "You're still bleeding."

He raised his fingers to the injury self-consciously, "It's fine."

"It's very obviously not fine."

"I've survived worse."

"Survival is generally not the highest of aspirations."

"You still have a lot to learn, don't you?" He almost smiled, but caught himself.

He let go of her carefully. She leaned against the car, resting her injured leg. She was so small, so quiet. It seemed impossible that so many years fit inside her, so much history and experience. He wanted to ask if she was okay, wanted to take her back up again, but he didn't know how.

She seemed lost to him, already so distant and cold. He tried to hate her, tried to conjure up some anger for what she had done, but all he could find was an overwhelming need to have her back within his arms, to have her beside him, to be on the same team again. He was lost in the distance between them, and he didn't know how to begin to traverse it. She flinched away as he touched her arm.

"Are you… alright?"

She shut her eyes, keeping her words tight, "I… don't know."

He didn't move, didn't have any other reply, feeling her voice as a weight on his chest. When she opened her eyes again, there were tears in them. "I just- I hate you. I hate you so much." There was no anger in her tone, no passion, no vengeance. That made it all the worse. The words slipped out of her mouth so easily, as if they belonged in the air between them.

He nodded softly, "I know."

"You don't."

"I do."

"No," she looked up at him, "you don't," and the stillness of her tone dropped down his spine, plummeting into his gut. He watched her forlornly. She stared at her hands, not meeting his gaze, desperately trying to shut down, to close everything out. "What the hell are we supposed to do? Just pretend it's all fine? As if it's even remotely possible for any of this to be fine?"

He stared off, really not wanting to meet her eyes, "We've never been fine."

"Okay, maybe you're right with that, but what are we supposed to do now?"

"Damn it, Violet, now you want me to tell you what to do?" He couldn't hide the anger from his voice, "You sure as hell didn't care about what I wanted earlier."

She grit her teeth, agitated, "You know what? You're right. You're right about everything, as usual. Head wounds aren't really all that serious, kids are absolutely expendable, and I don't give a fuck about what you think."

He set his jaw, doing his best impression of a statue, "You watch your damn language."

"Or what? If you're going to try to trick me into murder, the least you can do is let me say fuck a few dozen times a day."

"The least I can do," he turned on her swiftly, furious, "is let you starve out here like the ingrate you are! But," he pinched her chin patronizingly, knowing it would wound her, "it would be such a waste of a pretty face, and where else would I get a view so nice?"

"You- you're-" she pushed his hand away, her words were cut off by a very sudden and violent outpouring of tears. The drastic shift surprised him, forcing him to fight the reflexive urge to protect her, even if it was from himself. "How can you be so hateful?" The pained betrayal in her voice stung him, wrenching apart his chest. And yet, he had to stand his ground.

"I'm not going to apologize for your mistakes."

"My mistakes?" She looked up at him in disbelief, "My mistakes? Like what? Bothering to trust you for two seconds?

"You're the one busy making it clear just how much you hate me, so yes, that would be your mistake. Don't underestimate me again."

"Oh, you-" she seethed, almost visibly boiling, "you, you talentless hack!"

The slamming of the car door as she fell back in reverberated inside his chest, a ringing mourning bell echoing a dirge.

..

...

..

AN-

Sorry for the super slow updates, my lovely heathens. Life's been heavy, so I haven't been meaning to ignore y'all, but I haven't had much opportunity to write. Take this moment of pain as offering

Cheers


	6. Chapter 6

"I don't want to stop."

"Luckily, it's not your choice."

"I just want to go home."

He couldn't express how much he agreed with the sentiment. Gritting his teeth, he resisted the urge to shake her, "If we keep pushing it, we're not going to make it home. Believe me, there will be plenty of time for you to suffer later."

She stared forlornly at the filthy room, desperately wishing to be among her own things. She wanted her books, wanted to feel the weight of them in her hands, wanted to curl about them, feel the corners pressing sharply into her side as she drifted off to sleep, away from all of this.

The walls were an unappealing green, a small bathroom the only reprieve from the too-tiny room. She could barely breathe without bumping into him. Perhaps she could sleep outside; the road seemed a much better option than the bed, even with present company excluded.

He scoffed at her apparent dismay, "You're thoroughly spoiled, do you know that?"

"That's me, living the luxurious life," she muttered, stripping the sheets back so she could get a better look. He stood still, watching her.

"I'll be right back. I'm locking the door behind me, so don't get any foolish ideas."

"Oh please, what more could I want?" But he was already gone, the door shutting with a click as if she couldn't open it from the inside. She shook her head. What an idiot.

Exhausted, she pulled up her bag, searching through it. She should have a sweater large enough that she could sleep in it without getting too cold. Chances were she'd be on the floor tonight, and if she wasn't… well, she might just take the floor anyway. Softly, she pushed through the clothes, her fingers slowing over the purple silk shirt she had shoved in as well. Quietly, she pulled it out, feeling the sleek fabric. She closed her eyes, holding it to her face. It didn't have to be his. She was allowed to just like it for what it was. She could have at least this, couldn't she? She began to cry again, her face buried in the soft silk that smelled painfully of soap and home.

She slid down against the wall until she was sitting on the floor, trying very much not to think about the way her tears were probably staining the shirt. She ached with the desire to be home, but she no longer knew where that was.

He frowned as he re-opened the door; she was nowhere in sight.

"Violet?" He called out, tentatively. There was the sound of scrambling, then she popped up from behind the bed.

"Yes, I'm here, sorry."

"What are you doing?"

"Nothing, I just- Nothing." She tried to discreetly wipe her face with the back of her hand.

He cocked his eyebrow, "I was only gone ten minutes; what could you possibly have gotten into?"

"Nothing, I'm just… I'm tired."

"Suit yourself." He would save her the embarrassment for now, despite the obvious red of her eyes. She patted her hair, doing very little to sooth the mess it had become. She always did look her best undone, but even the prettiness of her shattering did nothing to sooth him.

He watched her awkwardly for a moment more before turning away, very obviously trying to look busy.

"Have you taken care of your head yet?"

"Pardon?"

She gestured to her forehead, but then sighed, seeing very clearly that he hadn't.

He waved her concerns off, "Its fine."

"Here, at least let me…" Making her way into the bathroom, she began to run some hot water, soaking a cloth. "Honestly, it's a miracle you've survived this long." She could hear him scoff from the other room, but he made no reply, hunched over something at the small desk in the corner. Walking back in, she held the cloth out to him. He elected to ignore her, pretending he didn't notice.

"Here…"

Gently, she rubbed at the excess blood. He moved away, frowning.

"I said it's fine."

"Don't be unreasonable." She continued, doing her damndest to remove the mess of crimson dirt. "Would you stop moving?"

"Would you stop trying to torture my face?"

"I'm not- goddamnit, hold still!"

He pulled back from her grip, frowning, "Language!"

"Yes, well, if you don't cooperate, then it's going to fucking hurt. Understand?"

"I don't need-"

"Yes you do."

"Since when are you so medically savvy?"

"Listen, either you can cooperate nicely, or you're going to have to pour rubbing alcohol over your open head wound. Do you understand?"

"Between the two of us, I'm in infinitely better condition."

"Bleeding from your head?"

"At least I can walk."

"That's… unrelated."

"At any rate, I haven't died yet."

"Its miraculous, really."

"Why don't you focus on doing your thing, and let me do mine?"

She sighed, walking back over to her bag, rummaging through her things until she found the small box she had put together for such an occasion.

The motel room had a pervasive feeling of dampness to it. She'd resisted the desire to open the windows, not feeling quite that safe yet. All she wanted was to sleep, not to think, but here he was bleeding out of his damn face, ruining everything per usual.

He leaned back in the chair, tilting it onto its hind legs, "I haven't the time to sit around and play doctor with you-I have much more important things to do."

"Such as?"

"Literally anything else."

"Alright," she walked back over, placing down a small arsenal of supplies on the table. He lifted a small jar of salve suspiciously.

"Are you a witch doctor now?"

"A chemist." She began to try to dab the solution on the injury, "I'll make you a deal. You let me take care of the damn hole in your face, and I won't talk to you."

"It's absolutely precious how you still think you have any power at all." She moved away from his stroking hand, an indignant flush to her face.

"Don't do that."

"Tell me again, what will happen if I don't listen to you? Will all four feet of your fury rise up against me?" He pulled at her skirts teasingly, tugging her towards himself. She stepped backwards, moving away from his grip.

"Stop it!"

"And why do you care so much? You certainly didn't mind before."

"This is going to hurt." She pressed the cloth soaked in antiseptic to his forehead, immediately overwhelming him with a sharp pain. Reflexively, he smacked it away. She sighed, watching it hit the opposite wall tiredly.

"Really?"

He wondered if it made her happy to see him so undone. No doubt. He winced as she reapplied the antiseptic. "I'd much rather you allowed me to perish."

"Yes, well, that makes two of us."

"Like you'd be able to survive without me."

"I could. Easily."

"I have half a mind to leave you out here."

"I won't protest," she closed the small jar, not paying his anger any mind. He hummed irritatedly. Was she trying to be so infuriating? He slipped his hands up her legs, gripping her tightly by the rear as he tugged her forward.

"And what would you do without your doting husband?"

"Better. I'd do better." She stepped back sharply, out of his reach, not even giving him the courtesy of a glare as she walked away, "You'll live, you're welcome."

Her face was a mask of complacency. It was like she was gone. Maybe he had finally done it, maybe he had finally broken her. The feeling chilled him, a premature mourning settling in his chest. Maybe he had been a fool to think things had being so well. But they had, hadn't they? Not everything had been so awful. Or was he really so blinded by his own happiness that he just hadn't noticed? He thought back to her reading aloud from her book, her thin fingers graceful and kind in their attention. If anyone was to have her, he made the most sense. As much as she hated to admit it, they were made of the same things. He couldn't wait again, couldn't go through the painful hoops of not having her. He remembered the look on her face when she had said that she was his. Was it normal to care for one's possessions so much? Had he gone too far? The thought was unbearable. Even in the face of loss, she was still his greatest victory. He couldn't lose that.


	7. Chapter 7

The hot water was a welcome reprieve. She shut her eyes, working her fingers through her tangled hair, fiercely scrubbing at her skin until it turned red. She needed to remove all the dust she carried with her, needed to get clean. She wondered if she would ever feel clean again. Probably not.

She had learned to love the numbing qualities of hot water. Sometimes it felt like she could just dissolve away, melt down the drain, away from her problems. She tried not to think about the cold air seeping around her through the cracks, tried not to think about anything except the feeling of the too-hot water against her skin. The rhythm of the water against her muscles was a soothing constant, almost allowing her to forget herself. Almost.

How was she supposed to exist now? How, knowing what she knew, was she supposed to continue living a life? This was something that could never be put behind her. She didn't regret it, per say. She had made the right choice, she was pretty sure. They deserved a future free from villainy, which was an option she no longer had. She was irreparably stained by her past, her choices, her life. They were finally free.

Free. It was a strange concept. She couldn't remember how she was supposed to exist freely. She didn't want it, didn't want to be responsible for herself. She didn't know what she wanted, but she knew that wasn't it.

It was a moment before she realized she was crying.

She still looked bored when she came back out of the bathroom, her hair slick from the shower. He quickly traced over her bare shoulders with his eyes, droplets of water still clinging to her skin. Perching on the edge of the bed, she began to run a comb through her hair, watching her careful reflection in the mirror. The soft white of her slip shone wonderfully in the harsh light. Had she always been so pale? Even in the motel lighting, she was still a prize. He took a moment to congratulate himself.

He watched her through the mirror guiltily, like he had done something wrong. He had, of course. Most of his time was spent doing the wrong thing. She looked away, not having the energy to give it any more attention. It was too late in the day for her to care about anything. All she wanted was to be asleep, to be away from all of this. Unfortunately for her, he was also reclined on the bed, watching her. Couldn't she ever escape him?

"Is me brushing my hair really so interesting?" She couldn't hide the biting sarcasm from her tone. He sighed.

"How much longer until it grows back?"

She shrugged, "I don't know. Who says I'll let it?"

"I don't like it."

"Then I'd suggest not cutting your own hair this way."

"You're feeling rather clever tonight." She didn't reply, not in the mood to fight any more. He would go all night if she let him.

He continued to watch her, obviously tired. Softly, he pushed himself back up, moving behind her. Gingerly, he brushed her hair off her neck, placing a soft kiss on the exposed skin.

She swatted his touch away. He hummed, callously amused, stroking her neck, "You really do think the worse of me, don't you?"

She wriggled away from him, uncomfortable at his inexplicable closeness.

"Please don't touch me."

The words stung him like a thousand needles. He curled his fingers back into his hand slowly as she resumed her hair-brushing.

He tried to regain his composure, "Are you afraid of me?"

"No." The answer was soft as it fell from between her lips. She didn't look at him, keeping her eyes on her own reflection, unsteadily keeping to her work.

"Have I yet to harm you? There's no reason-"

"I'm not afraid of you." She interrupted him, a stronger steadiness to her voice.

"Is it because you're not dressed? Because, and I hate to be the one to tell you, I have in fact seen you naked before." He could see the heat surge in her cheeks at that comment.

"No."

He reached for her again, "Then what-"

"I said don't touch me," she stood, stepping away, smacking his hand roughly, a fearful desperation in her tone. He froze, shocked at her impudence.

She looked like a caged animal, a sharpness in her eyes that measured him. She stood rigid, perhaps waiting for him to strike back. He lowered his hand slowly, fighting to keep calm.

"There's no reason to hit me."

"I told you not to touch me."

"I understand that. But I am still your husband, and I demand a certain level of respect."

"Oh my GOD." She pushed her hands through her hair, squeezing her eyes shut, "Don't you get it yet?"

"Get what?"

"You can't demand anything from me anymore," she held her arms up, empty palms facing upwards.

He set his jaw, standing close to her, ignoring the impulse to grab her arm, to make her feel his anger. "Care to enlighten me? Are you suddenly less mortal?"

A mournful beleaguered smile crept across her face frightfully, "Oh, you're going to kill me now? Haven't heard that one before." Her sarcasm was a slap in his face. "There is nothing for you to hold over me," there was a laugh in her tone, as if she was amused at her own desecration. "There is nothing you can take." She stepped towards him, meeting his cold gaze, "You can't do a damned thing to me."

His instincts told him to strike her, to send her reeling to the floor, to remind her whose she was. But he couldn't. She was right. He had nothing left to hold over her.

He said nothing, just continued to watch her, silent, unmoved. She felt the familiar pain of tears welling up in her eyes in addition to the staggering pain in her leg.

"There's nothing."

And with that, she began weeping overwhelmed tears of grief and regret, painfully expunging her aching heart, unable to care for the moment that she must look rather silly, crying before she even bothered to dress. He stared uncomfortably, surprised and unsure what it was he was supposed to do. She had no idea either, had no clue what was supposed to happen next, and the fear was paralyzing.

She wanted to be coddled, wanted to be told that it would all be okay, even if she knew it wasn't true. She wanted him to give a damn about the fact that she hated him, the fact that he was a ruthless home and a harsh companion. She wanted him to care that she was so tempered to his weather that his storm felt like safety and his hatred was a lullaby.

He reached out a hand hesitantly, unsure. She buried herself against his chest, clutching at his shirt, trying to ground herself enough to catch her breath. He moved his fingers against her, lightly tracing over her in a painfully long silence.

"You're… right. You're absolutely right." Surprised at his words, she paused, looking up. He frowned down at her. "There is nothing left for you." Taking up one hand, he brushed the hair back from her face before gently wiping the stream of tears from her cheeks. His tenderness was chilling. She felt the tears welling up behind her eyes again. "But do you want to know a harsh truth of the world?" He continue to stroke her hair placatingly, "There is no place for you, or anyone, anywhere. No one has anything. The only way to make a place is to beg, barter, or steal, so if you're goddamn lucky enough to have a spot beside a person who gives a damn where you end up, I'd hope you'd be clever enough to realize that."

She shook her head, "You are not all the world has for me."

"Fame, power, and fortune? What part of that isn't enough for you?"

"The part where it's… you. It isn't you. It isn't."

"Violet, listen-"

"Don't."

"I'll take care of you-"

"Stop-"

"and not just because you're mine, I-"

"Please don't," she snapped her eyes shut sharply.

"Violet, I love you."

"Well, fuck," she fixed her gaze on him, the anger back in her eyes, a terrible, frightening, living anger, "what am I supposed to do with that?"

"I-"

"No, what the HELL am I supposed to do with that? Is that supposed to make this okay?" She stepped back, gesturing between them rapidly, "Is you loving me back supposed to make all of this go away?" She was crying again, furious tears that poured down her cheeks. He stood in silence. "No, please, answer me! I at least deserve that, don't I?"

He looked at her, "I love you back?"

"You idiot!" Her voice was screech now, a painful keening sound, "You horrible, awful, terrible idiot!"

She covered her face with her hands, weeping tears that seemed to split her at the seams. He quickly caught her in his arms, holding her to his chest as if to keep her together.

She pushed him away angrily, "Answer the damn question!" Shoving him roughly, she punctuated her words with her hands, "What happens next?"

"I don't know what happens next!" He held his hands up, his fingers splayed to show their emptiness, "There's never been a next before, okay?"

Her frail-looking arms hid a great deal of strength. She evidently didn't believe him or didn't like his answer, because she continued angrily pushing at his chest.

"Then what the hell am I supposed to do?" The tears continued to stream down her face. She shoved him again and he caught her hands, holding her wrists tightly.

"What do you want to do, Violet? Because we can stand here all night, but something tells me this isn't what you're looking for."

She stared up at him, callous and sorrowful, her very aura aching, "I don't know! I never thought-" she looked away, not bothering to try to stifle her tears.

He sighed, letting go of her hands.

"I don't know either, okay? I don't know. This is... a lot."

"So you don't have a plan? For once in your life, you don't have a plan?"

She didn't realize how much she had come to depend on his consistency of action. Seeing him unsure was horrifying, frightening. How was she supposed to stabilize herself if she couldn't count on him to be the point she pivoted from?

He ran his hands up her arms slowly, tenderly. The kindness was surprising. She shut her eyes, feeling her tears sting her face.

He sighed heavily, and then slowly, slipped his arms behind her. She was still shaking, trembling against him as if at any moment now she might dissolve. When he spoke again, he did his best to keep his voice low, a placating whisper that spoke of intent if not certainty.

"What happens next is this- we go home. Maybe you take a bath. Maybe I make coffee. At some point we go to bed, we wake up, we make some more coffee."

She didn't move, didn't look up at him.

"And then?" Her voice was still angry but it was quiet, almost afraid.

He slowly ran his hands up her shoulders until he was cupping her jaw, kissing her forehead, "And then… and then maybe I try again, maybe I tell you I love you and you don't try to beat it out of me. Maybe I bring you more coffee and silk shirts and hope that you don't leave."

She stood against him in the silence that followed, mulling over the possibility.

"Even if I hate you?" Her voice fell out of her mouth like it was a ghost vacating a haunted house.

He sighed, "I've learned never to expect anything less."

"Because I do. I do hate you."

"I know that."

His mouth rested against the top of her head as he breathed the scent of her in, all dust and fire and flame. There was a moment of silence in the air as she thought it over, weighing his words.

"And what if I stay?"

"Then I remain a very happy man."

She brought her hands up, covering his softly, "Okay. Let's go home. Tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow."


	8. Chapter 8

He fell upon the bed, gratefully beginning to take off his own soiled clothes. Every bit of him ached with the day. He glanced back towards her as she rinsed her face in the bathroom.

"How's your ankle?"

She looked down at it, "Purple."

"Let me see."

She walked over to him without protest, climbing onto the bed as well. Tucking her legs up, she rearranged herself. He took her foot gently in his hands, looking it over. Eventually, he clicked his teeth, waving the injury off with his hand.

"You'll be fine- this is nothing."

"You sure?"

"You certainly have a knack for peril, but yes. You will survive this." He brushed his fingers over her leg. She shivered. Pausing, he glanced up at her.

"Are- did you-" She waited for him to finish his sentence. "Did you get hurt anywhere else?"

"Not that I noticed."

"Not that you noticed?" He frowned. "What the hell does that mean?"

"It means that I'm fine."

"No, it means that once again, I am left to survey the damage of your mess. Here, come here." He pivoted her until her back was to him again. Softly, he pressed his fingers into different spots along her joints. "Does this hurt?"

"No, I'm fine."

"How about this?"

"I told you, I-" she pulled back as he pressed a spot against her spine. "Well yeah it's going to hurt if you press that hard!"

"I didn't press hard."

"Well that's just not true."

"Here, let me…"

He tucked his fingers under the straps of her slip, pulling it over her gaunt shoulders. She caught the fabric at her chest as it slid over her shoulders, exposing the soft skin beneath.

"I could do that," she interjected, glancing back.

"I know." He pulled the fabric down to her elbows and then stopped, his hands against the softness of her skin. There were a few bruises already formed, but nothing lethal. She looked almost luminescent in the shitty motel light. It was so easy to forget how soft she still was beneath it all-beneath the facade, beneath her clothes. Gingerly, he touched one of the bruises on her back, running the pad of his thumb over it, feeling the rib beneath. She sighed, her tired shoulders stooping forward. He traced down her spine, feeling the way she shivered under his touch. It reminded him of that first night so long ago… was it so long ago? It felt like an eternity. Even now, she felt unreal under his hand. It wasn't erotic, it was… intimate. He slid his fingers down to the curve of her hips, and then wrapping his arms around her, held her tight to his chest.

She didn't move from his embrace, didn't fight against it. He was so warm against the bare skin of her back. She closed her eyes, feeling utterly and completely perplexed. She ought to push him off, ought to wish him away, but the thought of being alone right now was too much to bear. She needed his kindness, no matter the price it came with. It was all she had left.

She raised her hand softly to his face, still pressed against the back of her head, his long arms engulfing her. Softly, she turned to look at him. She hadn't ever seen him quite so tired. He smiled weakly, raising a hand to brush the hair back from her face.

"You look absolutely terrible, you know."

She had to smile back, glad to have something to laugh at, "You're not fairing much better."

"Yes, well, rugged is a good look on me."

"All the same, you look like death."

"Am I at least an attractive end?"

"Aren't you always?" She sighed, feeling the coloration of sadness fade into the sarcasm in her voice.

His arms folded over the front of her, tucking against her waist. She lilted her fingers gently against him, brushing at the base of his hairline. Pressing his face to her neck, he sighed against her. She was still here. If nothing else, she was still here, still his. He pulled his arms back, sliding his hands across her abdomen.

"Is this okay?" His voice was a low whisper, just loud enough for her to hear.

She nodded, an equally quiet "Yes," on her lips. He kept his face to her shoulder, memorizing the amazing softness of her skin as he slid his hand up, trying to inscribe her beneath his fingertips. She sighed, her kind touch still stroking his cheek and neck, creating a soothing rhythm.

His right hand moved up until he was holding her left breast. She craned her neck, giving him more space as his fingers flickered over her, not so much ravenous as exploratory. He had to be sure she was real, had to be sure she was still here. It seemed impossible that she could exist and remain so close to him. He curled his hand beneath her breast, cupping it in his palm, feeling the soft heat where his skin met hers. She rolled her shoulder back against him, pressing into him. Softly, he pressed his lips to her skin, her fingers still dancing at the nape of his neck, tracing unknowable patterns against him. He could feel her breath falter as her fingers tightened in his hair, nervous and unsure and beautiful. When he looked down at her, a pale blush colored her face.

She was everything. She was the only thing.

"I… do you…" she gave over the sentence she was attempting, settling for a quietly concerned gaze. However, she was interrupted by the feeling of him sliding his hand down her. Gently, he pulled her hips backward, kissing the tender skin of her neck. She moaned softly as he dug his fingers into her, holding her tight. Her hands tremored as she rested them behind his head, brushing back his hair. He stroked the joint of her hips, holding firm against her, pressing a kiss against her jaw.

"My dear Violet," his words were muffled against her skin, "calamitous, messy Violet."

She closed her eyes, feeling the sting of his words. Was she even his anymore? There was no reason for her to be; he had nothing at all to keep her. And yet, she didn't find his words disagreeable in the least.

As he moved against her, she felt her breath catch in her throat, heavy and wanting. When he touched her it was radiant, reverent. He kissed her neck once more, and then softly, slid his fingers between her legs. She gasped, tightening her grip on him.

He glanced down at her, a pleased, contented tiredness in his eyes. Catching his face in her hands, she pulled at him, desperate to get closer. Happily, he obliged, sliding his hand down her, holding her fast against him. She kept her arms tight about him as he moved his fingers over her, lacing his other hand beneath her leg.

She clung to him, sure she would drown in him. He pressed back against her, his fingers still running over her marvelously.

When he pressed a finger inside her, she whimpered against his neck, tightening her grip on him so that it almost drew blood. She arched into his touch, desperate to forget, to be washed away, to be allowed to have just this.

He drew his face up against hers, his lips hovering over her mouth but not kissing hers, their staggered breaths intermingling.

She could feel him rock against her wantingly with each moan of hers, his stiff erection hard against her leg.

She buried her face in his shoulder, arching up against him, "It's fine if, it's- I mean, if you want- I-"

He pulled her back, meeting her eyes. She stared back at him, and then his lips were over hers and she was kissing him back desperately, needfully as he pressed her down into the mattress, his hand still busy between her legs. She held his jaw tightly, savoring the way his tongue felt against hers, the way he gripped her, the way there was no questioning behind it.

Reaching up, she rewrapped her arms behind his neck, holding him flush against herself, her skin hot with the exertion.

"This is so fucked up," there was an exhausted smile in her tone.

"Is this- Do you-"

She cut him off, kissing him again, "Since when had that ever stopped you before?"

"Don't be a brat," he hissed the words through his teeth as he kissed her neck. She sighed, running her fingers against him enticingly before catching his face, kissing him in a way that sent shivers down his entire body. He pressed up against her again, feeling her breath hitch satisfyingly as he touched her wantingly.

She seemed even smaller somehow, her still-damp hair flattened and sticking to her skin in soft curls and waves. He pressed his tongue between her teeth, wanting nothing more than to have her surrender beneath him, to tell him again that she was his, to want him the same way he wanted her. He adored the way she groaned at the loss as he pulled his hand away from her, holding her down by her hips. Smoothly, he slid inside her, groaning at the sensation. She gasped, clutching at him as the sound turned over to a moan, her grip sharp on his back, desperate. He held her tightly, his fingers digging into the tender skin of her thighs as he rocked himself inside her, consumed by the totality of his need. She was a menace, she was impossible, she was his. He nipped at her skin, more than a bit satisfied when she cried out due to him pinching just a bit too hard. She had caused a lot of trouble for him, after all; it was the least he was due.

"Poor little Violet, did that hurt?"

She winced at his words, unwilling to admit to the sharpness of him. He rocked deep within her, pulling out another groan from between her teeth. He smirked, kissing her neck placatingly, "Don't worry, I don't plan on hurting you. You know I always take care of what's mine."

He kissed the side of her face greedily, working over her jaw and cheekbones, pressing her face to the side in his intensity. She closed her eyes, willing to melt under his care, hoping, in fact, to disappear into this. She didn't know if she was still his, but she could be, just in this moment.

She cried out again as he thrust deep inside her, his moan a vibration against her skin. She caught his face in her hands, pulling him down to kiss her again, hoping to find some absolution behind his lips. However, as he kissed her back, there was only hunger and desire. That could be enough for now; she could work with that for the moment.

Her lips parted wonderfully, mewls of pleasure spilling out of her. She held him close, still attempting to kiss him. What a silly girl. He felt his heart churn within him at the sight, quickly closing the space between them, welcoming the feeling as she folded beneath his care, sighing into his embrace, obviously pleased. For such a clever girl she really was so simple.

He began to move faster against her, delighting in the way her breath faltered at the sensation. She clung to him as if to touch him in every way that she could, desperate for the friction between them. He certainly didn't mind, always happy for the chance to reexperience the joy of her skin against his. Her breath was hot against him, her voice buzzing against his lips as she cried out, furrowing her brow. Instinctively, he leaned in to kiss her, stroking back the hair from her face.

"I've got you-you're mine, Violet. You're mine."

His voice was a placating murmur against her lips, and she found herself nodding at his words, wanting them to be true. Being his would be so easy. It was natural, it was where she fit. She whispered back soft affirmations, somewhat distracted by the growing peal of pleasure inside her. He kissed her as she came, pressing his tongue behind her teeth, filling her mouth. She surrendered to his presence easily, riding the waves of ecstasy as they broke. He was a heinous man, a hateful man, but he had her, and she was his.

He drank in the sounds of her hungrily, eager to absorb every bit of her pleasure. At least there was this; she was still his, he still had her.

He came swiftly, every muscle in him bracing against her, refusing to be torn away. Her soft hands clung to him like lifelines, seeking absoluteness in his presence. He kissed her deeply, welcoming the relief of her surrender beneath him.

He pulled away from her regretfully, kissing her soft neck, listening to the sound of her sighs as he teased her sensitive skin. Laying down beside her, he slid his hand over her body, pulling her tight to him. She was overwhelmingly soft, and he was again reminded of just how breakable she was. He pressed another harsh kiss to her jaw.

"You're mine. You're still mine."

Wishing he hadn't said that, she closed her eyes, feeling the weight of it all. He wasn't wrong, but still.


	9. Chapter 9

He was awoken the next morning by the slight tremor of her shivering. Even when she's unconscious, she's trouble, he mused. Sliding his arm over her, he pulled her close to him. She was his, his. His to protect, his to desire, his. She curled into his side readily, tucking herself against him.

"Don't touch me." Why had her words hurt him? There was nothing she could do to stop him; he always got what he wanted, and he wanted her. He had her, as a matter of fact. She had said so herself. She was his. His. So why did he have to keep reminding himself of that?

They'd be back home soon enough. Everything would be back to normal, if not better. He'd show her. She would fall beneath him, just as she always had; she'd realize that she loved him, eventually. They would get there, just as they always had. He would wrap her all in silk and lace, lay her out, make her scream his name until she had nothing left but adoration for him. His grip on her tightened expectantly. Unawares, she sighed in her sleep, her fingers brushing against his chest. Must such cruelty always be so beautiful, he wondered.

He was ready to be home, ready to put this dismal failure behind him, ready to begin again. He tugged the covers higher over her shoulder, relishing the way she felt against him. If nothing else, at least he now knew that no matter what, she would always come back to him. She needed him, even if she didn't want him the way she should just yet. He re-conjured the picture of her face when she had first said that she was his. If nothing else, he at least had this.

He didn't know how long they lay like that before her hand moved against him softly, a quiet sound escaping her as she battled against wakefulness. He kissed her, feeling the soft push of her reciprocation as she groggily woke up. She stayed pressed close to him, not aware enough to be cruel just yet. The look of confusion on her face when she blinked herself awake was adorably perfect.

"Where… what time…"

"The motel. It's early, we're fine."

She pushed her way up, leaving him feeling barrenly cold in her absence. He tried to tug her back down to no avail.

"Yes, that's right," her voice was still thick with sleep as she leaned forward, rubbing at her face tiredly. The bare skin of her back looked all the more enticing in the dim light, all pallid softness. She stood slowly, lost in her quiet thoughts, not at all mindful to the ways she was killing him.

"Here, come here," he reached for her arm, pulling her back down towards himself, back into the tempting warmth of the bed.

"Don't we have to-"

"You forget who I am. Nothing happens until I say so. And I say that it's unreasonable to expect a man to do any work at all when his wife looks like that."

"Looks like what?"

"Like this." His hand fanned over her, tracing the curve of her waist.

"Oh yes?"

"Yes." Kissing her shoulder, he brought his hand up to her chest. She shivered at the warmth, glad she could attribute the goosebumps across her skin to the coldness of the room. "Of course, it's only natural that any wife of mine would be such a pretty little thing."

"Regardless," she brought her hand to his shoulder, pushing him back, "said 'pretty thing' must protest. We have a ways to go, and I think I speak for the both of us when I say I just want to be home."

"Oh do you, now?"

"Yes. Is that really so surprising?"

"So ready to rejoin domesticity?"

"I'd hardly call us domestic."

"All the same." He stole another kiss from her before she managed to break away.

"Yes, well, the fact remains. And contrary to your belief, I don't actually mind being clothed for most things, so if it's acceptable by your lofty standards, I'm going to go get ready."

"It's a tragedy in action, though it does afford great possibilities for later."

"It's too early for this. I'm just going to go take care of my things now."

He swung his legs over the side of the bed, visibly reluctant, "You do what you have to. I'll get the men."

"Sounds lovely." She watched him for a few moments more in the mirror before turning back to her own work. He was so… much. She wondered if they had any liquor left in the house; she hadn't checked before they'd left. They'd both need it, of that much she was certain.

"I'll be back," he muttered, walking out the door.

They must have something tucked away, she mused to herself, barely noting his departure. This was the longest she'd been sober since… She strained to think. In a long time, anyway.

Carefully, she pushed through her bag, pulling out a dress that he had packed for her. What she needed now was to stay in his good graces until she could sort everything out. She just needed him to be not-angry with her until she had time to figure out where she was going, what she was doing. Assuming she was going to do anything, she thought mournfully. It seemed so simple in theory, but looking at their history, she knew it was sure to be more difficult than was strictly necessary. Freedom felt so empty. She didn't know what to do with herself, how to define herself if not for others. She had done the right thing, and now she was paying the price. That was only fair. It was the least she deserved. Carefully, she pulled her hair back from her face with the ribbon. Her hair had grown quite a bit since she'd lopped it off. Maybe she would cut it again, she thought. He certainly hated it enough to make it worthwhile. It was a small thing, but it was something. There was no point in trying to placate him entirely; the task was impossible. She just needed to maintain the balance. She couldn't lose herself in him, and things felt horribly close to tipping in that direction. It'll be fine, she told herself, staring at her lifeless reflection in the mirror. It would all be fine.


	10. Chapter 10

"They only had black tea."

"I don't mind. I prefer it, actually."

He frowned, pulling the cup away from her open fingers in his surprise, "Since when?"

"Since always," she shrugged, reaching, still trying to take it from him.

"You never said that."

"You never asked."

He shook his head, "I must have at some point."

"I'm telling you that you never did."

"That's impossible."

"Okay, well, can I have it anyway?"

"Am I a charity now? Have I taken to giving things away for free?"

She clicked her tongue in irritation, but leaning up, left an unconvincingly chaste kiss on his lips.

"I'll let you off this time, but as your paramour and husband I really do deserve better," he admonished her.

"So long as you promise never to say that again, fine." She took the cup gratefully into her outstretched hands, gripping it tightly as she leaned against the frame of the car.

If he hadn't seen her sleep, he wouldn't believe that she had. She looked exhausted to say the least. She kept her elbows pulled in tight to her body, her fingers interlocking around the cup in a tangle. There were a few blissful moments of silence wherein she sipped at the hot drink.

After all this time he ought to have known that silence was too good a gift to last.

"Listen, we really have to talk about what happened yesterday."

He froze for a second, staring at the open horizon. His men were a ways off. Good, they wouldn't hear.

"I hardly think that's necessary."

"I… think it absolutely is."

"There's nothing more to say."

"What do you mean there's nothing more to say? There's plenty more to say!"

"What are you trying to get at? What more could there be?" Things had just been nice. They had been genuinely nice. He had, foolishly enough, thought that maybe they could get through the rest of the day, and everything would still be nice. He should have known better. Of course she'd want to ruin that. Heaven forbid he have anything resembling happiness. "It is what it is. Don't put too much thought into it."

"I'm… just trying to figure out how they knew that we were coming?"

He looked at her, his eyebrow cocked, "Excuse me?"

"Yesterday, when we got there, and they already knew? Don't tell me you hit your head that hard."

"I…" he cleared his throat, recommencing his shuffling, "Yes. Well. Obviously they didn't and you're just being paranoid."

"But that's not-"

"I'm sorry that it's not an entertaining answer, Dearest. Not everything has to be so great. You really want to know the big secret of why we succeeded in killing exactly no one? Because they left. We were too slow, case closed."

"You don't-" she bit her words off, clenching her jaw. Why should she help him? That's what it would be if she were to tell him, wouldn't it? There was no point, no reason for him to know that they had been a step ahead. Maybe they deserved to be there. Maybe justice would sort itself out.

"Not to worry, though; this is almost behind us. Just a bit more time, and then we get to try again."

"Try again?"

"Of course; you didn't think this was over, did you?" He cocked his eyebrow, "Have you ever known me to accept defeat?"

"I suppose not," she could feel her teeth grind together.

"You're still married to a very powerful man. A single loss doesn't change that."

"I'm aware."

"And I always get what I want."

"Believe me, I know."

There were a few heavy moments of silence. She tried to bite down the bubbling feeling in her chest that had shifted from sorrow to anger.

"Why so on edge? There's no reason to be so tense."

"Isn't there?"

"A lack of victory isn't a loss. We'll make it up."

"You mean you'll make it up."

He squinted his eyes, studying her, "What has you so bothered?"

"I- Am I supposed to just be okay with the fact that you weren't going to tell me that we were going to plausibly kill my siblings?"

"Oh, is that all?" He waved her concern off, "It didn't seem necessary at the time."

"It didn't seem necessary?" The shrill pitch of her tone was impossible to repress. "What about that wasn't necessary?"

"We'd already discussed the possible casualties. You of all people ought to know that this is not work you can do without a body count. I can't hold your hand and walk you through every single eventuality, and I really can't do anything about your delusions."

She could feel herself wrestling with her anger, trying to grapple between her desire to live uneventfully and making him aware of his heinousness. He was all that she had, and he was nothing. She ought to leave right now, she thought, ought to just escape. But the thought gave her no comfort, no happiness. Instead, she just felt the mournful emptiness of what her life would be.

"You're a hateful man," she finished, making sure he felt the crispness of her tone. He didn't seem too perturbed, not even dignifying her words with another glance.

"Yes, yes. Coming from you, that's practically a love poem."

"I despise you."

"With the full height of your fury, I'm aware." He straightened up, as if to make a point of the fact that after all this time, he still towered over her. "Even when ignoring the fact that I contain more fury in six inches than you do in five feet-"

"You have no idea." She needed to stay in his good graces, she needed to, but how the hell was she supposed to ignore this? Why was he so stubbornly ignorant? Did he really want to try underestimating her again?

He smirked, looking at her, "Oh, I don't?"

She kept her chin defiantly straight, doing her best not to be intimidated as he leered down at her, "No."

"Well then," his hand unfurled slowly, "this shall be an adventure for the both of us."

She was almost more aghast when instead of grasping her, he only mussed her hair roughly.

"But let's put this aside-they'll be plenty of time for that later."

"Plenty of time for what?"

"For you to prove your rage. I look forward to it."

She bristled, livid at being so disrespected, "You don't know-"

"Oh I do know," he almost hummed in his quiet contentment, "and I remember fondly. You're always so… physical… when you're angry."

Seeing red was supposed to be an exaggeration, but she could swear she saw crimson before her eyes in her heated indignation.

"I- You don't-" but the longer she thought about it, the more right he was. She hated that, absolutely despised that. She'd show him. But even now her palms itched reflexively with the desire to pull him down by his collar, to make him apologize. It was the only power she had; was that really her fault?

"Oh come now," he ran his hand along her shoulder, a patronizing tone to his voice, "don't be so cross, Dearest. We'll be home soon enough, and you can go back to pretending you don't think about me just as much as I do about you. But until then, do you think you can manage to at least pretend to behave like a lady?"

She pushed him off, "Oh sure, I would hate to disappoint your fine company."

Catching her uncomfortably tightly by the arm, he kissed her cheek, either not noticing or electing to ignore her sarcasm, "That's a good wife."

She wrenched her wrist from his grip, pointedly avoiding his gaze. She wasn't sure what point he was trying to prove, why he suddenly seemed so hell-bent on intimidating her. Perhaps the loss had hit harder than she had realized. Good. He could stand to be taken down a notch or two, at the very least.

He leaned back against the car's frame, not looking at her, not wanting to deal with that mess. He really shouldn't push her so hard, he knew, but her anger was so much fun. Very few people had the nerve to talk back to him. It was still novel, and it was endlessly entertaining.

All the same, the last thing he wanted was for that anger to turn to apathy. So long as she cared with a passion, whatever that passion may be, he still had a chance.

They stood in silence. This wasn't supposed to have happened; she hadn't wanted to fight. She was supposed to be getting back into his good graces. But everything about her braced against him, wanted to shove him away, out of her life. It was a horrible feeling when your eternal torment was the only person you had, was the only thing you had. Stupid, stupid, she chided herself. If she was going to pick a fight, couldn't she have at least waited until after they were done being confined in a small car together? She sighed, rearranging her grip on her cup, trying to siphon as much warmth off it as she could.

"I still think you're horrible, but, I also don't want to go home angry. That's as close to an apology as you're going to get."

"Now now," he smirked ever so slightly, tilting her head up to kiss her softly on the lips, "don't go throwing that away. As I've said before—I like my women fiery."

It was weird, to feel so neutral to the cause. If anything, she should be fighting vehemently against him, but she was surprised to find she simply didn't care enough. They'd be home soon—she could look forward to that. The thought was a welcome one. She longed for routine, for the ability to lose herself within her own world again. It was out of her hands now, she thought, breathing in the steam off her tea deeply—it was finally no longer her responsibility. The thought was intoxicating.


	11. Chapter 11

_How many times before had walking through these doors left her feeling horribly lonely_ , she wondered as they entered the house. She'd be lying if she said it felt welcoming now, but there was a comfort in being somewhere she had learned to feel safe. She didn't bother bringing her bags upstairs, already knowing that she wanted to wash everything in them. She needed to get rid of every bit of this trip, every piece of dust and debris, every single reminder. She needed it all gone.

He seemed to be of a similar mind, falling upon the couch, his arm splayed dramatically over his eyes.

"How perfectly wretched," he muttered.

"Yes, yes, no one has suffered quite as you have."

"They haven't." He lifted his hand, folding his arms beneath his head.

"Yes, I'm sure."

She fell into the chair, kicking off her shoes by the heel.

He smirked, "That's not very lady-like."

"Very few things are."

"I didn't mean it in a bad way."

"Can't I do _anything_ without it becoming a spectacle?"

"If you bring me a drink, I promise I won't make a single comment. I won't even thank you."

"How generous." She stood anyway, very much wanting a drink herself.

It was a moment before she reappeared from behind the door, "We haven't had anything half decent in ages. If you're going to drink the house away, the least you can do is restock the liquor."

"Now now, you can hardly blame me alone." He took the glass in his hand, downing the majority of it in a single swallow. "Were you smart enough to bring the bottle?"

"Aren't I always?"

"That's a good wife." She topped his outstretched glass off. "You always know just what I need."

"I've lived with you long enough to figure most things out. You're pretty predictable."

"Am I?" He hummed a note of contemplation. "Well. It's not as if you're such a challenge yourself."

"I take offense to that."

"You shouldn't." He stretched beleagueredly, still watching her. "It makes my life easier. We fight, we fuck, we move along."

He could see her set her jaw at that, indignant, "You don't-"

"Don't get fussy," he closed his eyes, balancing his glass upon his chest. "If it was a bad thing, I wouldn't have bothered to save you. Which you still have yet to thank me for, by the way."

"I didn't need to be rescued."

"In this case, you did."

"I didn't want to be rescued."

"Luckily for the both of us, it wasn't up to you." She didn't reply, no doubt too busy being pettily annoyed. He wasn't wrong, through. "At any rate," he continued, breaking the now uncomfortable silence, "what do we have for dinner?"

"I've been home for as long as you. Hell if I know."

"It's your job to know."

"Care to rephrase that?"

"Really, now. I don't ask for much, and starving to death is definitely not on the list of things that I enjoy."

"And that responsibility falls solely on me?"

"You sound surprised."

"I'm just as exhausted as you are."

"Yes, but it's your job."

"It… is _not_. You're a grown adult."

"Violet. Have I ever left you wanting for anything? All I ask in return is a simple dinner. Is that really so terrible?"

"You know what? Fine. I'm too tired to argue."

"Ah. My five favorite words." He couldn't help but smile.

"But you'll owe me for this."

"We'll call it even. I saved your life, you go through the horrible discomfort of cooking in your own kitchen…"

"Whatever you say."

"Don't try to get smart—it's not a good look on you."

She shoved his head lightly as she walked by. Not unkindly, per say, just enough to let him know there was still some fight there. Good. He smiled, taking another sip from his glass, relishing the gesture, however unkind it may have been. She had to try so hard not to care.

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AN-

Hello my Heathens! Hopefully as things begin to quiet down, I can get better at updating in a timely fashion. Keep sending me your love/hate/exasperations, I love talking with yall Cheers!


	12. Chapter 12

Four years prior

She scrubbed at the pots until she felt sure that her hands would fall right off, her skin breaking away to reveal worn-down bones. But no matter how hard she tried, the burnt remains refused to detach themselves. There was the embarrassing prick of tears in her eyes, the humiliating notion that she might cry. She hated crying, hated how useless it was. Steadying herself, she placed the pot down, taking a deep breath.

"I see you've been busy making a fine mess of things."

She didn't turn when she heard his voice, though her fingers reflexively tightened against the counter. She shut her eyes, hoping to wish away the encounter.

"Give me a moment. Things are running a bit behind."

"Things are running behind or you are running behind?" She could hear him come up behind her, could feel him the same way you can feel the static of thunderstorms approaching.

"I'm running behind. Everything will still be ready in time."

There was the sharp tug as he pulled at the sash of her dress. She cried out, sidestepping, but he only clamped a hand down on her shoulder.

"Calm down, I'm just making you presentable." He redrew it too tightly, but she didn't dare complain, not wanting to test the consequences. "For God's sake, you're a Countess. The least you can do is dress like it."

"That wasn't exactly my top priority of the day."

"Care to repeat that?" He pulled back so harshly that she winced.

"Nothing. Nevermind."

"That's what I thought." Spinning her around, he brushed at the fabric over her shoulders, pausing and frowning in his inspection with a click of his teeth. "If you get any paler, you'll fade right away." She grit her jaw, not bothering to respond. "Well, nothing to be done about it now. Be a good hostess and maybe they won't notice the rest." He pinched her chin, tilting her head to the side. "Unfortunately for you, being 'pretty enough' is never truly enough."

He moved to walk out the door and then paused, holding up a finger in thought.

"And one last thing."

"Yes?" She tried to hide her nervous hatred by plying at a dishrag.

"Try not to look so damn miserable."


	13. Chapter 13

It was going to be nice to be back in their bedroom again. It felt like ages since they had been home. As much as she had berated him, it had been good to be back in her own kitchen, the familiar feel of her own tools beneath her hands. It was nice to pretend that everything was alright.

Everything wasn't alright, of course, but being surrounded by familiar things had a way of making it feel so. And so, as she pulled open the wood door, Violet couldn't help but feel comforted.

She wondered if it was bad for this to feel normal.

"Fuck it," she thought, shoving the thought down. She would spend the rest of her life in penance; the least she deserved was a good night's sleep.

"There you are—bring me another drink?"

He didn't look up, but he could feel her as she stood in the doorway, staring at him, "I just cleaned everything up, can't you get it?"

Frowning, he looked over to her, surprised at her disagreeableness, "Don't be so contrary."

"I'm not being contrary, I'm tired." She lay on the bed, stretched out exhaustively, closing her eyes. He shifted over towards her, peering down at her face.

"What, from a little bit of cleaning? How terrible can it be, really."

"Try it for once and find out for yourself."

He stood huffily, trying very hard not to let her get the best of him, "Well. If you're going to insist on behaving in such an unappetizing manner, I'll need a drink, even if I must get it myself."

The door closed behind him with a soft thud. Sighing, she sat up. She was ready for bed, ready for rest.

She ran through her checklist in her head, making note of everything she'd have to do tomorrow. Someday she really ought to just leave him to his own devices, let him see how terrible it gets when she truly became unhelpful. But no, she couldn't fathom living in a house like that. It would be too much. The very least she could do was keep it tidy. Besides, she mused, what she really needed now was to keep her head on straight. She needed to be able to think clearly, not worrying about the adverse effect of unwashed dishes.

He fumbled through the cabinets. She was right; they didn't have anything good. It wasn't his fault there was no more liquor. Who could blame him for trying to curb her enthusiasm for the stuff? Still, it would be a lie to say he didn't miss it. He pulled out the first thing he could find, not much caring what it was.

He'd need to start planning soon. They couldn't afford to fall behind; of that much he was certain. The last thing he needed was for the peace to be disturbed any more than it already was. He still didn't understand where her obstinate frustration came from; what part of the plan hadn't been made clear? She knew all the risks, had known from that first day that the other two could go to hell for all he cared. She was supposed to be a smart girl, so why was she so incredibly, remarkably stupid? He shook his head, walking back upstairs. This was the burden of genius.


	14. Chapter 14

Five Years Prior

One really ought to know whether or not their spouse was cheating on them. But honestly? She just didn't care. She couldn't force herself to care, any potential anger only manifesting as a general hatred.

The women would hold onto his neck, all smug, as if they had won something she wouldn't be all-too-happy to part with. They weren't the issue. What she did not care for was the way the men would poke at her as she walked between them, their prying fingers tight as they pinched her, gleefully pulling quiet sounds of annoyance from her. They reminded her of young boys, only too happy to cause distress. But what could she do? Of all of her issues, this one shouldn't be taking priority, but the fact of the matter was heavy within her, causing her distresses she hadn't names for. She couldn't say what exactly it was about it that was so terrifying, but it continued to terrify regardless.

It felt silly to say that it made her feel unsafe; she wasn't safe. There was nothing about this that was "safe," but there was a difference, somehow. Logically, she knew they wouldn't do anything. Their malice towards her was met only by their fear of him, and that fear at least protected her, for now. It's best not to break other people's toys, the toy's thoughts and feelings on the matter notwithstanding.

She wasn't sure which was worse though, if the cement terror in her gut that came with his presence was more painful than the tripping, electric fear that came with their jabs. Because when he put his hand on her, his fingers curling tight over her shoulder, there was no way any of them would dare touch her, but that protection seemed to come at too high a cost. She hated the slight pressure of his presence, the monotonous silent reminder that she was his, that he owned her. No matter how he would croon, holding her chin between his fingers just a bit too tightly to be kind, she would always find herself wishing away that brief protection, glad to trade it in for anything else. So no, she would not mind it if he found the time to busy himself with someone else. In fact, he could have as many of them as he wanted, she genuinely did not care. The only fear in that was the anxiety that came from the possibility that their fear would not be enough to pull back their hands once he relinquished claim of her. She wasn't stupid; she knew what they wanted. Even if she didn't, there was whispered remark enough, made just loud enough for her to hear them, the occasional whistle and hand on her leg. Some nights she wanted to fall apart on the kitchen floor, wanted to die, but no. There were things to be done; she hadn't time to die.

And him, with his long fingers on her shoulders, his skinny women and buckets of wine. He never said anything to them, never encouraged the behavior but never discouraged it. It seemed to make him happy, the ability to dangle her in front of the others like this. She didn't know what he had told them, if the fact that she was so young perturbed him as much as it ought to, or if like the rest of morality, that just simply wasn't an issue to him. She certainly wasn't going to question the matter. She needed to stay alive long enough to protect her siblings, and after that… After that didn't matter yet. After that would come later. But until then, there were things to be done, damn the consequences.

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AN-

Hoo boy. We're nearing the messy territory.

I've been having fun juxtaposing current bits with flashes of the past, so hopefully y'all appreciate the moments of background context, cuz I'm gonna keep writing them. I'm a sucker for apathy and loathing.

In other news, I still adore y'all, and cannot express gratitude enough to you blessed Heathens who are still here

Cheers


	15. Chapter 15

She pushed herself up into a less-horizontal position, taking the proffered glass from his extended hand, "How chivalrous of you."

"Have I ever been anything but?"

"On occasion."

"Impossible."

She raised her eyebrow at his potentially feigned offense, but didn't comment further on the matter. She needed a drink badly enough to placate his ego that far.

He reclined on the bed beside her, swirling his own drink about his glass.

"You forget just how lucky you are."

"You rarely give me occasion to."

"Don't be so harsh, Darling. It's not a good look on you."

"Really? I seem to recall you calling it 'admirable' once."

"Yes, well. A man can change his mind."

"You don't tend to be so fickle."

"Maybe you don't know me as well as you think."

"Maybe."

They sat in silence a while longer, beside one another but not touching. The negative space between them was almost visceral, buzzing with the tension of awkward quiet. She raised her glass to her lips.

"You actually wear that?" He caught her left wrist softly.

She watched him as he scrutinized the thin wedding band, "Have you really not noticed after all this time?"

"I never thought about it, I suppose. It's just reaffirming what I already knew." He spun the ring slowly, his fingers warm against her hand. She didn't pull away, letting him play with it gently. His touch felt nice when it wasn't unkind.

"And what would you have me do? Would you rather I didn't?"

"No, it's just…" He slid the ring off her finger, examining it closely, poorly feigning indifference. "It's unexpected."

She sighed, leaning into his shoulder, "I guess I just stopped thinking about it. I stopped noticing."

He looked over at her as best he could, twirling the band between his fingers, "How so?"

She shrugged, "Some things are easier to get used to than others. Pain becomes white noise."

"And being my wife, that's pain?"

She didn't answer, quietly watching his movements.

"You shouldn't have come after me, you know. You said you wouldn't." Her voice was low, almost sad.

"I had promised you nothing bad would happen to you. I like to think of myself as a man of my word." He slid the ring back up her finger gently. Her hand was so soft, so small. It was amazing it still fit; her fingers were so thin. He trailed his hands up her arm, feeling her warmth before leaning back against the wall.

"You still shouldn't have."

"And then where would I be? I'd have to find a new wife. After all the trouble you've put me though, anyone else would seem dreadfully boring." She didn't reply, staying very still. He sighed, "Here, come here." Gripping her arm, he pulled her towards him so that she was between his knees, leaning her back against his chest. She pulled her legs in towards herself, balancing her hands on them, fidgeting with her nails. He rested his chin on the top of her head, folding his arms over hers.

"Boring might be nice," her voice was soft, quiet.

"Oh, yes?" He smirked, watching her hands.

"Yes."

He placed an amused kiss on the top of her head, "You would hate it."

"I could deal with boring."

"Really? You wouldn't mind a picket fence, two-point-five kids and a three bedroom house?"

She leaned her head back against him, closing her eyes with a sigh, "I wouldn't mind that."

"You'd keep house all day, maybe join a women's book club?" She hummed a note of approval as he began to run his hands along her legs, moving the skirt of her dress out of the way. "I'd be gone nine to five, you'd raise some brats. When I got home you'd say something I didn't like, and we'd fight, and the nice home cooked meal you'd slaved over all day would go to waste."

"I like how even in the imaginary scenario you're still the problem."

"I know my role." He slid his hands up, bringing them to rest on her waist.

She sighed, "So we're just doomed, I suppose."

"Oh of course. But, you know, there's always another option."

"And that is?"

"We continue being messy and unreliable and terrible, and every time I look at you I picture what you look like underneath all of those clothes," he kissed the side of her face, his voice a low rumble.

"Yes?"

"Oh yes," he trailed his hands up to her chest, slowly undoing the buttons along the front of her dress. "We ruin absolutely everything we touch, and we drink too much, and every morning I get to wake up and kiss you among the wreckage of our lives." He tucked his hand beneath the fabric, his cold fingers moving over her. He hummed a note of satisfaction, "Have I ever told you before that you have fantastic breasts?"

"You may have mentioned it," her voice was breathy, a higher pitch than usual.

He kissed the side of her face again, almost purring as he moved his hand over her soft skin, flushed at his touch, "Good, because you do. But where were we?"

"The mornings."

"Yes, that's right. Every morning you make me coffee and I make you come." His other arm spilled over her waist, his hand grabbing at her through the fabric of her dress, "We live selfishly and all the better for it. We get in a fight, break a few dishes, and then get too drunk to care anymore. I kiss you, and in return, you let me make you come again. We have dinner, I die at the agony of having you anywhere other than across my lap. One of us gets jealous of something, says something wrong, some more plates are broken."

"Stop breaking all of my plates."

"We own special plates just to break."

"Is that so?"

"Stop interrupting, I'm not done yet."

"Oh no? So how does it end?"

"We take a look at the wreckage of our lives, and fall into bed together." His fingers slipped under her skirt, teasing her softly. She inhaled sharply, her hand flying to the side of his face, holding onto him.

"And then?" Her voice was shaky.

"And then we fuck until we forget why we were upset."

"I can live with that," her fingers tightened against him.

"Can you?"

"Routine is routine," her words cut off into a gasp as he slid his fingers down between her legs. He was pleased to note that she was excruciatingly wet, just from his voice.

He kissed the side of her face lightly, amused, "Well then. I didn't know routine got you so worked up; I'd have started scheduling sex much earlier."

She began to reply, but her words turned into a heavy moan as he slid his fingers along her. He kissed along the side of her face and throat proudly, her breast caught in his other hand.

"Last chance to have me leave you alone."

"No, don't stop," her hand gripped the back of his neck, clutching at him.

He chuckled, nipping at her ear. He ground his swelling arousal against her and she groaned, trying to press herself closer to him.

"So eager?" He smirked, amusement in his voice. "I don't think you've ever been so quick to the punchline, Darling."

"Please- don't. At least pretend to be normal. Just let me have one normal thing." She could hear the strain in her voice.

He kissed behind her ear, "Your wish is my command." Pulling her hips back, he ground his erection against her again. She caught her lip between her teeth, trying to stifle the neediness in her groan as he kissed hungrily against her skin. He slipped his finger inside her, moving his hand faster against her, making her desperate with the need for release. She tightened her grip on him, almost pulling him over in her urgency.

She didn't want to think, didn't want to rationalize and reflect and remember. She just wanted to be excused of autonomy, to be his for a bit, to feel guiltless. His hand gripped her breast tightly, holding her against him. She closed her eyes, glad for a moment without choices.

His mouth was so warm against her skin, and the fever in her continued to swell as he moved his fingers against her, delighted in her surrender. She let her head loll to the side, and he eagerly took the opportunity to reach more of her neck. Suddenly, the expanse of it all blossomed wonderfully between her legs, causing her to cry out.

"There we go," his tongue flicked over her, his hand taunt on her breast. She arched against him, still clutching at him, blissful oblivion clouding her thoughts. He didn't stop, keeping the same fast pace. She melted, whimpering, into his arms, too sensitive for the amount of sensation he was flooding her with. "I don't know if having a master lover strictly counts as 'normal,' but let's just see what happens anyway," there was a wicked smirk to his voice. He pressed his fingers back inside her and she cried out, arching against him again. He pulled her back, still clutching her breast between his fingers, "I wasn't done yet."

She lay her head back, panting breathlessly. One more. He'd see if he could get one more. She didn't disappoint him, only a few moments passing before her fingers were tugging at his hair, her back arching in such a way to grind against him unfairly. Holding her tight, he lay her down, arranging himself between her legs as he kissed her neck. She tangled her arms behind him, her legs fast against his sides.

"Don't stop," her voice was deliciously desperate as she tugged him down, holding him against herself.

"Just say the word; I live to please."

"Please," she pulled his face up to kiss him on the mouth, her cherry lips parting to let his tongue in, "please, I need you."

He smirked, a roaring pride filling his chest, "You need me?"

"Yes, I need you," she held his face to hers, her breath scattering against his lips.

"Tell me you're mine."

"I am; I'm yours, all yours, I want you."

"Keep talking," he hitched her legs up, grinding his still clothed cock against her.

"I need you, I really really need you right now. I'm yours, all yours, only yours."

"I'm still not convinced," there was a smile in his tone.

Her hands trailed down to his hips, pulling him against her by the waist of his pants, "Let me convince you."

She tugged his belt open swiftly, only having the patience to undo the top of his pants before she was reaching down, cupping his straining erection. He groaned, her lip caught between his teeth.

"Goddamnit, Violet," his voice was shaky, "what am I going to do with you?"

"Anything, so long as you keep telling me I'm yours."

He buried his face against her neck, kissing purple bruises along her skin, "You are mine. My Violet, my dear, strange Violet," He ground his wanting cock against her, consumed by the delightful gasp she gave in reply. "All mine." He kissed along her throat until he came to the front, beginning a trail of kisses down her sternum, between her breasts. She groaned wantingly, arching into the new lack of pressure. He placed his hands on either side of her hips, flicking his tongue over her abdomen. She gasped, clutching at the sheets. Smiling, he made his way back over her again, kissing her open mouth as he thrust himself inside her. Her arms flung over him, clutching at him desperately as his sudden stiff presence filled her.

"My Violet, only mine." She cried out blissfully as he pressed into her, all of his pent-up desire outpouring into this. Her fingers dug into his back, leaving pleasant scratches along him. "You belong to me, do you understand? You're all mine, every inch is mine. This," he grabbed her wrist, kissing along her arm, "is mine. This," he kissed the bottom of her jaw roughly, causing her to gasp loudly, "is also mine. And this," he dug his fingers into her ass, hoisting her up towards himself, "is definitely mine."

She didn't reply, sparks popping beneath her eyelids, flushing her system of all thought beyond sensation. She moaned into his kiss, letting him flood her mouth with his greedy tongue. He pulled back far enough to meet her eyes. There was a dark glint in them, a treacherous spark.

"My good little wife, my Violet."

And then she was crying out again, her arms a vice he was trapped inside as she held him tightly. She arched against him, the warmth of his skin intoxicating hers. She was radiant, she was glowing, she was burning alive.

He continued to thrust into her, chasing his own climax. She held his shoulders, enjoying the feeling as he slipped down, moving his mouth over her breasts. She gasped, her fingers digging into his skin.

His breath was ragged, uneven, "These are also most definitely mine." She laughed despite herself and he smiled, moving up to kiss her, lifting her hips so that her shoulders were pressed firmly to the mattress. She encircled him with her arms, hoping to keep him against her lips, her tongue flitting over his teeth.

He groaned as he came, his body an explosion of heat and desire. She tangled her fingers in his hair as he lay exhausted upon her chest. Her breath was warm against him, her heart pounding hard enough to burst out of her ribs. He rested his hand on her, beside his face.

"Violet, I-"

"No, not now." She pulled him up into a soft kiss which he readily complied with before laying down again, the soft movement of her breathing becoming a song of sorts. He kissed the flushed skin at the swell of her ribs, grateful at least for this.


	16. Chapter 16

What now? She stared at the ceiling, feeling the weight of him against her. What now?

She had always wondered what she would do, given the opportunity. She'd thought that she didn't know, but when the moment had come, she'd been able to do it. She'd always wanted to believe that she was still the sort of person who could choose her family over herself of course, but she hadn't been able to be sure of it until now. At least their wickedness hadn't taken that from her.

Closing her eyes, she tried to match her breathing to his. What now? She couldn't believe that it was all over. If anything, it had just begun. They'd opened something, and she wasn't sure how to close it, or if they'd even be able to. He shifted in his sleep, tugging her closer to him.

She hadn't left him. What did that say about her? She tried to keep her thoughts shallow, tried not to get too deep into it all.

He had said he loved her. She wondered if he had meant it, if even he believed it. She didn't see how he could, how it was possible. He'd tried to say so before, true, but that was before… everything. And what did he expect in return? Opening her eyes again, she watched the shadows on the ceiling.

There were very few things he claimed to love. Money, power, fame. Liquor. Very rarely did he show any sort of fondness for the slightest of virtue, all of his interest honed in on ways to extrapolate upon his greed. So what did that say about her, that he was willing not only to develop of fondness for her, but to profess it? Or was he just lying to make her stay? She wasn't sure if the thought ought to make her sad, but it did.

She could still leave; she knew that. But where else would want her? Lightly, she brushed her fingers over him, feeling the tactile warmth of his body heat. He tightened his grip on her in response, holding her uncomfortably close. She didn't mind, letting him resettle before shifting just enough so that she could breathe.

Although it was horrifying to think that he knew her better than anyone else, the very fact that he did and still wanted her said something. It was good to still be wanted, even if it was by him. If she had to be a sin, so be it, but at least she was still desired. At the very least, she wouldn't be lonely. Or, she wouldn't be incredibly so. He was a man after his own interests, and if she was occasionally one of them, what more did she have a right to ask for?


	17. Chapter 17

Two years prior

Things have a habit of changing when you're not looking. He couldn't pinpoint the exact moment when she'd stopped being little more than an in-the-way nuisance; maybe she just hadn't worn the right particular shade of blue before, or maybe she glanced back at him one too many times, but at any rate, he had been surprised to find himself actually noticing her. He'd watch as she came and left, smirking proudly to himself as she bustled through the door, loose hairs curling around her face. No matter how hard he tried to keep her looking as picturesque as possible, it seemed her natural inclination to fight against it. She was always somewhat out of place, always just a bit too much. He was surprised to realize just how much he liked that. He wasn't sure if she thought he didn't notice the snideness of her tone or the sharpness of her whispered retorts, but he reveled in them, loved prodding her, enjoyed her exasperated reactions. She was so expressive, so easy to tease. As she got more comfortable, she became less demure, more apt to bouts of disagreeableness. He punished her for behaving so, of course, but couldn't quelch the endless satisfaction it gave him. Perhaps he shouldn't tease her quite so much, but the flush of her cheek, the shaking turn of her hand, it was… enthralling.

He really had begun watching her far too often, so he couldn't say exactly when he had finally… noticed her entirely. Maybe one day she'd moved her leg just right, or had bent over just so, but after that, there was no going back. She'd always been pretty; that wasn't so unusual. But never before had the fleeting, darting glimpses of her neckline and bare throat been so… consuming. He hadn't realized how sensual the back of the neck could be until he watched her pull her hair up, her lean fingers tangling it into a braid. He tried not to think about her hands, tried not to pay too much attention, but he was finding more and more often than when he touched a woman, he would close his eyes, imagining it was her soft skin beneath his. Her very existence was blissful cruelty at times, the small amounts of her frame that she allowed to be shown making him dizzy with longing and curiosity.

He'd never let the other know, of course. As far as they were concerned, she was every bit his obedient housewife. When the men got too rowdy, too jealous of his claim, he'd pull her into his lap, enjoy the weight of her frame as she pressed away from him. She was so small, so wonderfully lithe. He'd occasionally gift himself the indulgence of a kiss to her neck, biting back the urge to dig his fingers into her, to hear her cry out. He imagined again and again what it would be to run his hands down her hips, to pull her tight against him. He pictured her face, her hands, her lips. He imagined her voice, imagined it quivering and longing, a blissful cry and then his name, pulled on shaky breath. That- that was always his undoing.

He wasn't a fool; he was all too aware of how easy it would be to have her. She was so small, so dependent, and so pretty when he frightened her. The thought did give him some pleasure, however limited, but the satisfaction would be so fleeting. The only idea more appealing than her submission was her willing surrender. Anyone could take, but he was a master of seduction, a renowned lover. No, this would be the finale to his victory, the encore to his magnum opus.

There was no way she could be so entirely unaware of what she was, and yet, she seemed hellbent on her ignorance. She shuddered under his too-brief caresses, sidestepping him as if he wasn't already better than she deserved. She'd fall beneath him, it was inevitable. The only question was when. He wasn't a patient man, more inclined to the victory than the journey, but for this, he could wait. He had plenty of time, after all. Where else could she go?

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AN-

Ngl, this is one of my favorite chapters I've written

Cheers!


	18. Chapter 18

Nights had gotten longer. She was sure of it. There was no way they had always been so long.

The rising sun had become a welcome reprieve, pushing her even further away from the past. It would undoubtedly come back for her, but for now, she was glad to feel it slipping off. Maybe someday it wouldn't hurt so badly. Maybe.

She waited for it to be appropriately early before getting out of the bed, feeling the cold harshness of the wooden floor beneath her feet. The strangeness of their return hadn't lasted horribly long, eventually fading like a bad fever dream. If not for the occasional pain in her ankle, she'd doubt it'd happened at all.

The stairs creaked conspicuously as she crept down them, trying very hard not to make so much noise. It was as if the building itself wanted to make sure she knew where she was, wanted to condemn her guilty feelings of safety. She forced herself to slow her breathing, shoving the cold air deep into her lungs. If she wasn't allowed to be happy, she could at least be comfortable.

The smell of the coffee grounds was a settling one, thick and permeating. She enjoyed the process, the small labor. The routine was good, normal. She made a mental note to buy more, running her fingers over the counter, feeling the cold firmness of the stone as she pressed against it. Softly, she brushed her hair back from her face. It was almost long enough to be pulled back nicely. Maybe she would grow it out after all, if only for her own sake. Not being able to make it behave was exhausting. Putting on the water to boil, she tried to tangle the sides into french braids. She could only get so far before the hair unfurled, refusing to remain put. Frustrated, she pushed it back from her forehead.

She should go shopping today. She should just go out, period. Leaving the house seemed like such a terrifying step, like at any moment reality might fold back in on itself, rocket her back to that moment. She pressed her hands hard against the counter, feeling the strain in her knuckles. It was over, she was safe. Wasn't she?

She had been getting up so early lately; hell only knew what she was doing. The house was cleaner than it had ever been, though, so he hadn't complained. But today, despite his own reasonably timed awakening, his coffee was already cold by the time he came down.

Muffled sounds came from the kitchen, ominous clinking noises. He opened the door, glancing in.

"Violet?"

"Down here," she called out, halfway inside the body of the stove.

"What the hell are you doing?"

She pulled back, wiping a black smudge down her cheek with the back of her hand, "Fixing the stove."

"I wasn't aware it was broken."

"It wasn't, per say, but I've been thinking, and I've got a way to make it even better."

He cocked his eyebrow, looking down at her, "Good enough to justify the ruining of that dress?" She glanced down at herself as if she hadn't noticed. The stupid girl had worn a yellow dress, now pockmarked with oil.

"This? This has been ruined for a while now. It's no great tragedy."

"Really?"

She nodded, evidently not catching his sarcasm nor looking at him, invested in her work, "Besides, have you ever known me to wear yellow? The dress was begging to be destroyed."

"Then why purchase it?"

"I didn't—you did."

He scoffed, catching her full attention again, "So not only have you ruined my gift, but you are leaving me stoveless with cold coffee?"

She cinched her eyebrows together, "It can't be cold yet; I just put it out, I-" She glanced towards the window, looking surprised at the risen sun, "What time is it?"

"How long have you been awake?" He tried to mask the concern in his tone with reprehension.

"I don't know, I figured I'd finish this quickly, but one thing led to another and I suppose- Well, no matter, I'll fix it quick; just a moment." Her hands disappeared back inside the machine. "You go do whatever it is you do, and I'll be right out."

He cocked his eyebrow at her tenacity at giving orders but complied, since it was what he was planning to do anyway. The stupid girl. Still, there was a certain charm to her obliviousness. Maybe someday he'd manage to make a Countess of her yet. Maybe.


	19. Chapter 19

Three years prior

The first time she had gone into town by herself, she had been shocked to be allowed out of the house. But, as she quickly came to realize, there wasn't all that much she could get into. She used to wish someone would say something, would point out how incredibly suspiciously young, lonely and tired she was, but everyone had played their civic part and looked the other way.

She had it down to a science now. She knew exactly how long she needed to shop, and how much time that gave her at the library. If she wasn't back exactly on time, there'd be hell to pay. She'd made the mistake of getting lost in a book once. Once.

She was five minutes ahead of schedule today, so she took her time in the aisles, running her fingers along the spines of the books. She needed something thick, substantial. The librarians had raised eyebrows at first, hesitant to give such large books to such a little girl, but she'd persuaded them, and time had proven her capability.

She pulled an appealingly large book off a shelf. It was a book of sonnets, bound in brown leather. No, too flighty. She slid it back into place, tracing her fingers down the embossed title.

Eventually, she settled on a hefty novel by a Russian, stopping only briefly to re-checkout the book on farm machinery. Heaven knew she was ages away from any farm, but it was better than nothing. She had read the book plenty of times already, but with a less-than-stellar section on mechanics, the library left her little option but to cycle through what they did have. At any rate, she took her two books gratefully, stepping back outside into the crisp air.

She was so absorbed in her writing that she didn't notice him enter. He frowned peering over her shoulder at the smudged paper beneath her hand.

"Are you leaving me to become a milkmaid?"

She jumped at his voice, reflexively gripping the sheet close to herself as if he might snatch it away.

"Pardon?"

"I assume there's no other reason for you to be looking up farming."

"No, I was just… taking notes."

He cocked his eyebrow, "Why?"

She stared down, unable to meet his eyes, "I don't know. No reason, I suppose."

"For such a clever girl, you're very stupid." He took the open book from the desk, scanning the page quietly. "If you don't have enough work to do, you can always tell me."

"No- I mean, I'm plenty occupied."

"Which is why you've reserved your illicit research for the middle of the night."

"It's all the time I have."

"Which makes you spending it thus all the more confusing."

"I-"

"No time for arguing, at any rate. So, you'd best get to bed. We have company tomorrow and I expect everything to be immaculate." He snapped the book shut, placing it back down. The look of relief on her face at its return was readily apparent. He'd have to look through it later, make sure it really was a case of her strangeness and nothing else.

"Sure, okay."

"Is that any way to speak to your husband, Countess?"

"No- I mean, yes, of course-"

He caught her chin between his fingers, forcing her to look at him.

"You forget how privileged you are. Remember your manners before I have to remind you."

She pulled back, her movement sharp and hateful. Fine. So long as his kitchen was clean, she could hate him all she wanted. It didn't make the slightest difference to him.


	20. Chapter 20

"So what are you doing inside the stove first thing in the morning, anyway?" He was sprawled on the couch in the sitting room languidly.

She handed the cup to him, shrugging, "I told you, fixing. Improving."

"Yes, but before dawn?"

"I couldn't sleep."

"You haven't been able to for a while now, have you?"

She glanced away, not meeting his gaze. Nonchalantly she flicked at the skirt of her dress, "I do more than you give me credit for; I can't help it if there aren't enough hours in the day to get it all done."

"That sounds like an excuse."

"Am I being accused of something?"

"There's no need to get defensive."

"I'm not being defensive."

"If you say so."

"Is this interrogation over? Can I go now?"

"It's not an interrogation- Just, for god's sake, sit down. You're making me nervous with all your fidgeting."

"I still have things to finish, I don't-"

"The house is clean. Sit." Grasping her arm, he tugged her down sharply. She balanced on the seat uneasily, looking very much like a small animal that wanted nothing more than to scurry off. Quietly, he took her hand, rubbing at the tired muscles. "If you don't calm down, you'll combust. What has you so worked up?"

"Nothing, I just- I have a lot to do."

"Because you know, if you've managed somehow to land yourself in trouble," he dragged his fingers up her arm, pulling her back towards him, "I am very good at making problems disappear."

"Problems or people?"

"Yes."

She sighed but said nothing more. Tenderly, he moved his fingers up over her shoulders, tucking his thumbs beneath the fabric.

"I'm serious, you know."

"I'm not in trouble, just tired. When have you ever given me opportunity to get into anything, anyway?"

"Maybe you'd be less tired if you slept."

"Maybe."

Softly, he drew his hand down her back, slipping it over her waist, his other hand dancing over her collarbone. She tilted her head to the side tiredly, not fighting his touch. Gently, he pulled his fingers across her throat, feeling the slight tremor of her breath. Her fragility never failed to surprise him.

"Am I really so awful to share a bed with that you need to escape?" His hand slid to her shoulder, his arm pressed across her collarbone.

"Not everything has to be about you." Her hands pressed warm to his arms, holding him absentmindedly.

"Then what is it about?"

"Nothing- there is no 'it' for anything to be about."

"If you insist." He pressed a kiss to the side of her neck, enjoying her quiet softness.

"Can I get back to work now?"

"Keeping your husband happy is your work. And right now I want you right here."

"Yes?"

"Yes." He ran his hand down from her waist over her leg, feeling the tactile fabric under his fingers.

"Just like this?"

"Exactly like this. Unless you really do find the kitchen floor more entertaining than me."

"The coffee is going to go cold again."

"I don't mind."

"You did earlier."

"You think too much."

"Arguable."

"I don't doubt it. You could argue anything." He kissed the back of her neck again, dragging his hand back up to her waist, tucking it across her protectively so that he held her in a full embrace. Reaching back, she stroked his hair softly.

"You make me sound so insufferable."

"You are. Entirely too much trouble. An absolute nightmare." He kissed behind her ear, taking his time to enjoy the soft tenderness of her skin.

"Oh yes?"

"You're lucky I keep you."

She turned her face towards him, sliding her hand to his jaw, "Oh, I am infinitely privileged to remain in your presence, I'm sure."

"You are."

"Am I supposed to thank you?"

"It wouldn't hurt."

"I wouldn't put too much stock in it happening."

Softly, he retracted his arms, drawing his hands up her arms. Slowly, he ventured over the collar of her dress, feeling the soft incline of skin right at the top of her breasts, before lacing his fingers up, against her throat, and then down her back.

"You forget how lucky you are."

"You forget the hell I can bring upon you."

"Oh, really?" he chuckled. She nodded solemnly, and he received the distinct impression that she wasn't kidding. "You are in a mood today; aren't you?"

She didn't respond to his jab. More purposefully, he slid his hands over her waist, pulling her back towards himself.

"And what reason have I given for such cruelty?" He reclined backwards, pulling her down in top of himself. She turned so that she could lay upon his chest, his hands still skirting along her sides.

"Is this a conversation you really want to have?"

"You wound me, Darling. I hardly believe you could find my company so unbearable."

"I'm just saying, if you're going to keep me hostage," she placed a hand over his own, drawing it up the front of her dress, "at least make it worthwhile."

He kissed the top of her head, inhaling the scent of her hair deeply as he tucked his free hand beneath the yellow fabric, dusting his fingers along the back of her leg.


	21. Chapter 21

Two years prior

It was absolutely hideous. Most of the things he gave her were, but he had really outdone himself this time. He was always on her for looking so pallid; she could hardly believe that pairing yellow with it would make it any better.

She wasn't sure exactly when he had started leaving her dresses, but it was irritating at best. They pinched in all the worst ways, were mostly itchy, and worst of all, usually kept her arms close by her sides. How was she supposed to exist without lifting her arms?

This monstrosity at least was free from that. She actually had a decent bit of mobility, save for the ribs. The fabric was thick, almost canvas-y in weight, and when she had forlornly stared at her reflection in the mirror, her awkwardness had only became more and more clear. If she didn't know better, she'd mistake herself for a depressed lemon pastry. Given an inch of freedom she would have changed into anything else, but he had made his thoughts on the matter very clear, and this wasn't a battle she wanted to fight.

He had said this dinner was "very important," but he said that about every one. Either they had another petty heist or an even worse production to plan; whichever it was, she wanted no part of it.

It was a very important dinner. He had made sure she knew that. He needed to re-inspire his subordinates, to get them ready to follow him on this next heist. And of course, she played a role, however unwillingly, in this small scene of persuasion. It helped his argument to have his finest trophy serving dinner, a perpetual reminder of his wit, every bit the perfect hostess. He'd dressed her to fit a man of his status, of course. She had no eye for such things, always preferring her boxy, oversized clothes. He'd tried to persuade her away from them as of late, giving her nice things that actually complimented her figure, but she always made things so difficult.

Finally, she came through the kitchen door, food in tow. Her face was set in her typical manner, expertly masking whatever it was she may be feeling. She was a perfect, garish display of all of his might, and he couldn't resist pressing a kiss to her hand as she moved past him. She didn't say anything, pulling her hand away quietly, but the men responded exuberantly, always ready to laud him, and rightfully so. Just a touch of color showed in her face. If he didn't know better, he'd say she was embarrassed, but time had taught him to discern her anger. Good. It was a good look on her.

The dinner seemed to be going well for him. Good. Maybe she could retire early. They were all so eager to buy into whatever he was saying. It made her feel so silly, to be trounced around like a medal or a trophy. She moved between them, refilling glasses, hoping to expedite the process of their drunkenness. Maybe they would pass out sooner. She poured extra in, for once glad for their thirst for the liquor.

A wandering hand brushed her knee. She sidestepped it, refilling the glass of a very forward squat man, who had a few thoughts of his own to share. With any luck the bastards would be out soon.

He watched them, already boisterous in their eventual victory. They were so easy to lead; all they needed was his genius. He sat back, watching it all contentedly. His dear wife wove between them, a spot of brightness in the mix. The dress really was a work of brilliance on his part. He may not have her just yet, but just looking at her was a damn fine experience. The fabric pulled tight over her chest, spilling over her hips in soft folds, practically inviting you to find out if she really was as soft as she looked. The skirt flowed around her legs, an intriguing, darting question of bare skin hidden under all that cloth. The things he'd give to run his fingers along the backs of those legs, push all that fabric up out of the way, feel the tight tension of the bodice over her skin as she lost her breath, as he made her come undone.

Unfortunately, his men seemed to feel the same way. They were all exuberantly drunk tonight, and apparently brave in their lack of inhibitions. A pallor of fear colored her otherwise steady face as one man slunk his arm about the small of her back, hands wandering just a bit too far to be allowed. Quickly, he snapped his fingers to her, pointing at his own cup. She stepped out of the man's grip, hurrying back over to him.

After giving her a moment to actually refill the glass, he pulled her back by the hip, balancing her on his leg. She protested lightly, but he waved her words off, trying to hide the gleefulness of his fingers from his grip. His hand rested right at the curve of her waist, and as she sighed, he could see the swell of fabric tighten over her chest. He drank from the glass quickly, wanting very much to distract himself from the weight of her body against him.

She hadn't realized how much they had drunk. This was infinitely worse. They were awake, but more brazen than ever. She was almost glad for his protection—heaven knew she didn't want to be back within that mess—but still, there was the cold clamminess that came with it. He never did anything without motive, and his protection couldn't be trusted. She managed to suppress a wince as his fingers dug into her waist, not particularly wanting to anger him at this moment.

He put the glass back down, placing his other hand upon her leg, tightening his grip ever so slightly against the fabric. She didn't move, not wanting to provoke him. Softly, he tugged her back, sliding the hand that had been on her waist up to her abdomen.

"Relax—it's a party, for god's sake."

Begrudgingly, she allowed him to steer her weight against him until she was leaning her arm on his shoulder. There was a pleased smolder in his aura, his hands sliding back over her waist.

She leaned against him, her arm laced behind his neck, hands folded over one another on his collarbone. She was so stiff, but at least now she didn't look like she wanted to die. Gently, he played with the fabric of her dress, trying very hard not to think about how it would feel to take it off her. He tried not to think about how warm her skin was, how soft and beautiful. Quickly, he reached for his cup, only to find it empty.

"I'll get it," she snatched it from him quickly, retreating to the kitchen. He frowned at the loss, but allowed it. She'd return, but even so, the best things always were so fleeting.

She reappeared a bit later, evidently having had taken her damn time. He looked away, not wanting to seem too eager.

She was only steps away when there was a quick yelp, and the flurry of her hands beating offending reaches from the inside of her skirt. Her face was concentrated in fear, the glass making a loud sound as it hit the ground, though it was hardly able to be heard above the already present din.

Not thinking, he stood quickly, sharply hitting his hands to the table, "Everybody, out!"

They stared at him, blank confusion on their faces. He had never thrown them out before, had never discouraged them from acting as they might. He couldn't risk showing them any weakness. Thinking quickly, he moved behind her, scooping her up in his arms bridal style. "I need to sleep with your Hostess right fucking now!"

The announcement was met by a spattering of cheers and generally amicable noise, and what only could be described as a look of sheer terror on her part.

He stayed until the last of them had left before folding back into his chair, massaging the bridge of his nose.

"You're a terrible actress, you know that, right?"

Her grip on the table was tight, terrified as she forced herself to stay upright, "I understand that- I mean- I-"

"And why on earth would you go so heavy so fast with the liquor? Haven't you learned by now?"

"I don't- I-"

"Not to mention your hostess skills. Really, you'd think someone failed to die."

"Listen, please," she clutched at her throat, feeling her heart beat uncomfortably hard, "I understand that you have- I really don't care what you do with the other women, but I- I don't-"

"Oh, please." He scoffed. "If I wanted to sleep with a depressed maid, I'd certainly pick someone a little less deceased-looking."

"So, you're not-"

"Do you really think yourself so irresistible? Spare me. What, am I supposed to lust after you because you wear a dress and pour wine? What sort of drunk do you take me for?"

"I just meant- I didn't-"

"Backtracking now? Have we changed our mind?" Standing to his full height, he slid his arm around her, pulling her tight to his chest mockingly.

"You wish." She tried shove him off, not able to tolerate his horrid closeness, but he only tightened his grip, keeping her close enough that she could feel the murmur of his heart beneath her fingertips.

"Don't pretend you're more than human, Darling. You'd be lucky to be the object of my desires. It's a position many women vie for."

"They can have it."

"Now, now. I believe the phrase you are looking for is 'thank you.' Now," he dropped her, brushing imaginary specks of lint off his jacket, "I hope you've learned a valuable lesson." Sharply, he turned to leave before stopping for a brief moment, "You'll want to get started on the cleaning right away. You've a lot to do."

Not looking back, he walked off, leaving her feeling very confused and very much alone.

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AN-

Y'all: Pre-Here attraction makes us very uncomfortable

Me: Same

Also me: Embraces the hell


	22. Chapter 22

It seemed like years since she'd been to the library. It was entirely too small; she wouldn't be surprised to find that she'd read most of the books already. But still, a home was a home.

The librarians had stopped commenting upon her book choices ages ago, having given up the mystery of her preferred genre. She wasn't entirely sure either, to be honest. Any story that wasn't hers was good enough. She had been grateful when the new librarian today didn't remark upon her eclectic choices. She wasn't in the mood for remarks.

She carried the three books with her back to the house, ready to bury herself in someone else's story, if just for a fleeting moment. She'd already read them before, but it was long enough now that it was time to read them again.

He'd practically shoved her out of the house following their argument. She'd tried to get back to her cleaning after breakfast, and he'd told her that "it all was clean enough; for god's sake just let it alone!" And so, out she was sent with a list of errands and instructions not to return for an hour.

There was still time enough when she finished, the sun already marking it as somewhere around noon. Not wanting to be kicked out again, she settled in a small pocket of a courtyard, trying to stay inconspicuous enough to be ignored by the store patrons. It was cold outside, but she was dressed for the weather and had no desire to mingle. Sitting on a bench, she pulled a book from her bag, opening it to the flyleaf.

She had scarcely opened it when a slip of paper slid out, fluttering to the ground. Catching it quickly, she lifted it, examining it. It hasn't been there when the librarian had stamped the library card, had it? No, one of them would have noticed it. People were always losing things in library books, of course; they really did use the strangest things as bookmarks. She expected a shopping list, or perhaps a personal letter, but was surprised to find a small note.

She frowned, looking down at the page, then scanned the lines again.

"The forward Flower thus did I chide:

Sweet thief, whence didst thou steal thy sweet that smells,

If not from my love's breath? The purple pride

Which on thy soft cheek for complexion dwells.

Be't their comfort

Advance all troops thither: gracious England hath

Lent us good Siward and ten thousand men

Therefore, good Brutus, listen now to hear:

And since you know you cannot see yourself

So well as by reflection, I, your glass,

Will modestly discover to yourself

That of yourself which you yet know not of."

It wasn't original writing, or if it was, it was done in a style that closely mimicked Shakespeare's. She was ready to brush it off, but then she noticed the small, scrawled eye in the bottom right corner.

She felt an instantaneous sensation of dread, cold chills of terror running down her spine. She placed the paper down on top of the book, not trusting her shaking fingers. Steadily, she drew in a breath. Was it left for him? It seemed impossible that it wasn't; it was his tattoo after all. But why would anyone leave him a list of Shakespearean passages? He was an actor in theory, but he hardly seemed the type to perform anything he himself had not written. So what was it?

Perhaps it was another coded message. Nothing was misspelled, though, nor unreadable.

Thoroughly confused, she folded the paper over, tucking it between the pages of her book. She'd find a better hiding space for it later, but for now she needed to make another trip to the library.


	23. Chapter 23

Five years prior

The first time she had learned not to ask questions was almost immediately after they had come back from their first post-wedding heist.

They practically kicked down the door, bustling and loud and very much awake despite the late hour. A very large pile of laundry was thrust into her hands, along with instruction to bring the liquor immediately. Not wanting to mix within their company, she'd done as they asked before retreating to the solitude of the laundry room.

He never came in here, the idea of doing his own work evidently unappealing. She untangled the clothes from one another, revealing piece after piece of soiled costume. That wasn't too surprising. They were exactly the sort of people who expected others to clean up their messes. The work was monotonous, but preferable to playing hostess, so she didn't complain. Complaining never achieved anything, anyway.

She continued sorting through the mess before stopping very abruptly, the song she was humming dying in her mouth. Slowly, she lifted the stain closer to her face, trying very hard not to notice the metallic scent coming off the deep red stain.

It couldn't be blood, she told herself as she dropped it, but her shaking hands wouldn't listen. Unsteadily, she reached into the cabinet, pulling out the hydrogen peroxide. It couldn't be blood. Probably just motor oil or something. Gingerly, she poured a capful, trying very hard not to spill it everywhere. It couldn't be blood, she told herself again, more firmly. She was being silly, she reprimanded herself as she poured it over the shirt. The liquid bubbled and frothed, reacting with the dark stain which was very definitively blood.

Her hands were still shaking later as she refilled their glasses, trying not to notice the burbling of the merlot as she poured it.

"Something wrong, Countess?" he purred, stretching out his glass towards her. She stared at it, not wanting to meet her eyes.

"There was blood on the sleeves."

"Yes. If you can't get it out, just replace them." She didn't move, looking up to meet his bemused smirk.

"Why was there blood?" She didn't know why she asked the question; she didn't want the answer.

Slowly, he leaned in close until his face was inches from hers.

"Because someone stuck their nose places it didn't belong."

The chill his words had left her with never really left. She ended up tossing the shirts, the idea of putting her hands in that laundry water too much to reconcile. It wasn't the last time, of course, but it was the first.


	24. Chapter 24

"Finally taking an interest in my work, I see."

She glanced up at him from over the top of her book, her heart a nervous thrumming, "Pardon?"

"You're reading a play, Darling."

"Oh, yes." She tucked her finger between the pages, bookmarking her spot. He plucked it from her hands, opening to where she had left off.

"Not my choice, personally, but whatever suits you, I suppose."

"Well," she tried to take it back from him, "if you don't mind-"

"No, not at all." Falling into the empty space beside her, he reclined, stretching his legs over the arm of the chair, effectively boxing her in. She shoved at him irritatedly, trying to garner more space.

"That isn't what I meant."

"Shall I start from the top of the scene?"

"I genuinely don't-"

"Tis just. And it is very much lamented, Brutus, that you have no such mirrors as will turn your hidden worthiness," his chest inflated as he drawled on, overacting gestures, his hand sweeping the air, almost hitting her. Perfect. She should have known this would happen. What was she thinking, trying to read Julius Caesar in the living room? Resigned to her fate, she sighed, propping her arm up against his leg.

The other passages she wasn't so clear on, but if the last one was from any story, it was Julius Caesar. If she was going to find Brutus anywhere, it was here. That was the famous quotation- "Et tu Brute?" She was going backwards, of course, but it was a start at least. She was going to ask the librarian for help, but by the time she'd gone back, she had already left, and so, left to her own devices, she'd started in the only place she had.

She had only managed to get a few minutes of reading in before he'd interrupted her. The process was slower than she'd anticipated, requiring extra time to untangle the language. What she had neglected to account for was his indefatigable ego. Perhaps hearing the words being read aloud could help, although, as she listened to his tone dip and dive, she began to doubt it. His inflection changed again, presumably taking on the voice of a different character. She'd almost forgotten how much she hated being a literal captive audience.

"Therefore, good Brutus, be prepared to hear. And since you know you cannot see yourself so well as by reflection, I, your glass, will modestly discover to yourself that of yourself which you yet know not-"

"Wait-" she cut him off, "read that passage again."

"Shall I start from the top of the scene, or just the passage-"

"Just the passage."

He cleared his throat, and then began again, speaking slower than before, "Therefore, good Brutus, be prepared to hear. And since you know you cannot see," he continued on, but she wasn't listening. That wasn't what the note said. The passage had been changed.

She fought the urge to jump up, his winded legs still holding her to the seat. Why did he have to be like this? He was so impossible. Closing her eyes, she tried to remember the original, or, the changed version, she supposed, word for word, but her thoughts kept being interrupted by his speaking. His voice derailed any memory she might have had, until resigned, she leaned back, closing her eyes. So long as she was going to be trapped, she might as well enjoy it.

It had been ages since anyone had read to her. It was strange; his intonation sounded nothing like her own, his pacing different from her internal reading voice. But once she got over that, it was almost soothing.

He nudged her shoulder, "Are you awake?"

"Yes, I'm listening."

Clearing his throat, he re-resumed, this time keeping his hand to her arm, tracing gentle patterns against her with his thumb, rubbing it in time with his reading.

Maybe the note had been for him. It would make sense that they'd send him a theatrically coded message. But why put it in her book? Her hardly touched them, except to bribe her. If they wanted him to pay attention, they should have put it on the back of a liquor bottle.

Still, his voice was comforting, (how strange, she thought, that his voice had become a comfort to her) and she found herself not minding at all the ways he drawled the words out, excessive to the last.

…

He wasn't even finished the first act before she was asleep. He was torn between disappointment and relief, glad that she was actually sleeping. She had been acting odd ever since they'd come back. He knew she wasn't telling him something, and he had no idea what. Not that he cared about her keeping secrets; he had plenty of his own, after all. It was human nature to deceive; he couldn't fault her for that. No, it bothered him that he had no idea what she could be so nervous about. She certainly didn't have time for an affair, and the house was clean enough that he knew she wasn't going anywhere else. Maybe she was just afraid in general. He certainly wouldn't blame her.

As he turned the page, a note fell out. It didn't count as snooping if I literally fell into his lap, right? He skimmed it quietly, his face falling as he finished.

So that's how it was, was it?

He looked at her, her head tilted to the side. It was hard to believe such a small frame could hide so much malice, but here they were. He wondered if she was going to tell him, if she had even thought of him. Why was she so insistent on destroying him whenever he showed her the slightest kindness?

He shut his eyes, his foolish heart beating against his ribs. Perhaps she hadn't seen it yet. Perhaps she didn't know. Maybe, just maybe, this was an overreaction. But the book; what were the chances she'd just happened to pick up the exact sort of book a brat like her would need to decipher it? He watched her tired form, feeling completely and utterly exhausted.


	25. Chapter 25

Four years prior

She only ever read books that could plausibly out-weigh her. He wondered sometimes how she managed to lug such things about, if she was ever tempted to throw the damn things out the window. But no, she would never do such a thing; there was too much of her parents in her. She revered the stupid things, held them with such care one might suspect they had been hollowed to conceal weaponry. He had thought so, at least at first. He had also been relatively disappointed to realize that no, she just really enjoyed the books. He hadn't a clue where the girl found the time to read the damn things, but if she was going to keep herself out of trouble, he wasn't going to protest.

Sometimes she'd oversleep, and he'd come down in the mornings to her still curled on the couch, clutching some nondescript literary brick to her chest. He never wanted to wake her himself, it seemed too much, and so he'd slam some door behind him loud enough to set her bolt upright, back on her course.

It was strange having her about; while he rarely saw her, he always saw the effects of her presence in the completed work. She did her damndest to stay out of his sight, and he wasn't complaining; the last thing he wanted was to have to take care of a perfectly fine adult. They rarely spoke, and he preferred it that way. He'd leave her lists of things that must be done, and they'd miraculously be completed. Really, the only time he saw her was when he needed her to play hostess. She was terrible at it, of course, but she was learning.

When he did see her, it always bothered him how gaunt and bruised she looked. If he didn't know better, he'd suspect himself of beating her. But no, the stupid creature was just keeping herself up all night with those stupid books. He had hoped it was a phase, but it showed no signs of slowing down. He wondered sometimes if it was dangerous for her to read in bed; the size alone of the novels could asphyxiate her should she fall asleep with them on her chest. And then where would he be? He'd have to find a new maid, a new hostess, after having put so much work into this one.

Sometimes when he awoke before her, he would watch her for a moment before leaving to slam the doors. Her long hair was always splayed across her face, tangled in dark tendrils, masking her. When she slept, her features weren't furrowed in a perpetual frown nor made unsightly by exasperation. She could almost be pretty if not for everything else about her. She was practically a ghost, sharing his house but rarely making herself known. It was easy to forget they were married; if not for her money, there'd be nothing to show for it. There certainly wasn't any sense of fondness. She hated him and he hated her; that was simply how things were. Or rather, he had grown indifferent towards her. She didn't give him much opportunity to hate her-she didn't exactly do much, always staying in the shadows. Maybe someday she'd get her nose out of those books, would become an acceptable henchman. That would be the best case scenario, of course, but who knew. Anything could happen.


	26. Chapter 26

"Therefore, good Brutus, listen now to hear."

She lay the note beside the text for perhaps the 200th time, staring at it.

Be prepared.

Those were the words they had changed- "Therefore, good Brutus, be prepared to hear." Be prepared. Prepared for what? What was she, if the note was even for her, supposed to prepare for? She still had to decode the rest, and she had no clue where to start. Frustrated, she ran her fingers through her hair, pushing it back. She had never been one for research; she liked untangling problems, taking them apart, but it seemed like there wasn't enough to even constitute a tangle.

Closing her eyes, she pulled her hair back with her ribbon. If there was enough for there to be a problem, there was enough for her to solve it.

Okay. What did she know? It was a code of omission, presumably. Presumably, all of the passages were from Shakespeare. And what else? What else did she know? The previous codes had to do with letter scrambling, but that didn't seem helpful here. He was an actor, and at least one of the sections was from a play. Was that useful? Shakespeare didn't just write plays, though, he wrote sonnets as well, didn't he? She lifted the note up again, reading it over. The first one rhymed; maybe that was a sonnet. It certainly sounded like the beginning of one; it had meter and plenty of poetic language. But that still left the middle one, the one about the English army. Unfortunately, if she knew anything about Shakespeare, it was that he loved writing about English armies. Groaning, she put her face back in her hands, fighting back despair. She could solve this. She had to solve this. The sonnets- she could at least start there. It was a next move, if nothing else.

It would be easier if she could just ask him, she thought, rubbing at her eyes with her hands. For once he was better versed than her. Checking the clock she was shocked to see what time it was. She jumped up, already behind on starting dinner. The last thing she wanted was a group of angry criminals on her hands.

He watched her as she served dinner, all innocence, as if she didn't belong amongst them. He tried to conjure up hatred, but all he could find was a fearful sense of betrayal. Was she working with them? Was she the reason they knew not to be there? She had panicked at the last moment, running in, but perhaps it had all been a ruse.

Had she really chosen them over him, even after everything? When had he even given her the opportunity to? Why was she insisting upon tearing him apart? She didn't even notice his wallowing destruction, too distracted by her own problems. She was such a clever girl; if she allowed him, he could build her an empire, but no, she was hellbent on creating her own.

Perhaps he was getting ahead of himself, though. Perhaps it was a misunderstanding. And perhaps she was a snake.

He'd wait, see what she did. The last thing he wanted to do was make her more clever in her deception. If she wanted to betray him, it was his job to keep her stoppable.

He was uncomfortably distraught that night. She wasn't sure what was happening with him, but she didn't like it. His anger never ended well for her. She doubted it was anything she had done, but still.

Honestly, she shouldn't care at all. She had more important things to do, more pressing matters to attend to. And yet, his disinterested glances were off-putting. She couldn't remember the last time she had felt so self-conscious, constantly checking and rechecking herself. She needed to stay in his good graces; it was absolutely vital. He was all that she had, all that she knew. If he had decided she was worthless, where else would she go?

Taking a deep breath, she tried to steady her nerves. There was no need for it to come to that. There was no reason to assume that he was upset with her. And yet, when she refilled his glass he hardly looked at her, didn't even acknowledge her. He didn't know, did he? Of course not, she reassured herself. She'd seen his acting skills; if he believed she'd been keeping things from him, he'd be livid.

Softly, he nudged the lip of the bottle up with his glass, "That's quite enough, Countess."

"Oh, sorry." In her internal chaos, she hadn't noticed how high she had been filling it.

"Quite alright." Softly, he slunk his arm around her waist, rubbing his thumb against her as if to ground himself, to reassure his mind that she was still there. He wouldn't lose her. She was too much to lose. "What has you so distracted?"

She leaned into his touch, still cradling the bottle of wine in both hands, "Oh, this and that. Routine things. The usual. Why?"

He shook his head casually, "No reason. Is it really so strange for me to care about my wife's interests?"

"Only when they're not pertaining to you."

"You're too harsh, Darling." He pressed his fingers tight into her side, into where he imagined the scar to be, as he took a sip of his drink. "Such cruelty is unbecoming."

..

...

..

AN-

Hello my darling Heathens!

Sorry I've been absolutely awful with updating, but I've got something in the works, and hopefully y'-"" will like it

Cheers!


	27. Chapter 27

She couldn't remember ever having done the dishes so quickly before. She scrubbed at the cookware with an unprecedented vigor, hurrying the work along. She had to finish in time to get to the library; she needed to get her hands on a book of sonnets as quickly as possible.

She'd always been aware of how much work he had her do, but was the extent of it really necessary? Would it kill him to help out once and again? She stacked the dried dishes quickly, continually glancing out the window to check her time. It was not yet noon;

Throwing down the rag she used to dry her hands, she hurried out of the kitchen, only to collide face first with her omnipresent husband's chest. The beverage he was carrying sloshed out of the cup, over his hand. He held his arms up, trying to minimize the casualty, staring down at her with a quizzically reproachful glance.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry, I-"

"So where is it?" He recomposed himself slowly, placing the cup aside.

"Where's what?"

"The fire you set." Walking past her into the kitchen, he picked up a towel, wiping his hands off. "I imagine there must be one somewhere; why else would you be barreling through doors like a mad woman?"

"I really didn't mean-"

"I'm sure. But you're avoiding the question."

"I was just in a hurry, I have so many things to do, and not nearly enough time- I was just on my way out; I have some errands to run-"

"Slow down, no reason for such rush." He regarded her again as he leaned his weight back against the counter, undoing his shirt. Her nervous energy was practically palpable, it so filled the air. It was an oppressive energy, thick enough to cut. He slowed his motions even more, hoping to exacerbate her. "Weren't you just out yesterday?"

"Yes, but-"

"BUT, what? The local clerks see you more than I do. Besides," pulling off his stained shirt, he handed it to her, "if you really are so anxious to get work done, I have some laundry for you."

She clutched the fabric in her tight fists, obviously trying to hide her discontent. She had gotten better at hiding her emotions, but still, no one knew her as well as he did.

"Fine, if you'd prefer not to eat tonight, I suppose we don't really NEED groceries…" Clever girl. He cocked his eyebrow, smirking. It would be amusing if she wasn't working so hard at his betrayal.

"It's just us tonight; how much can you really need?"

She didn't like the iced coolness of his tone. It felt too forced, like he was hiding something. She had dealt with the situation often enough to know how it felt, but every moreso, he felt… sad? It was strange to think he was capable of being sad; mostly he just became angry. He stepped closer to her, lacing his arms behind her back.

"You need to slow down; you're going to collapse. Or at the very least, you're going to ruin all of my clothes."

"It's not my fault I'm the only one keeping the house in order."

"Yes, yes, I know, I'm the worst. And, as the horrid person I am, I am furthermore requesting you stay within said house today."

"Have I done something wrong?"

"Damnit, Violet, am I such a punishment?"

"I only mean-"

"Because, if so, reprimanding you is about to become infinitely more pleasurable."

"You're unbelievable."

"And you've ruined my shirt."

"It isn't ruined, it just needs to be washed."

"All the same, justice shall be wrought."

She was so incredibly warm as he kissed her, the coldness of the outside seeping through the windows. Her hands were soft against him, caught between the two of them as she still clutched at the stained shirt. She remained stiff for a beat, and then, tenderly, kissed him back. The feeling absolutely vivisected him, made him sure that now he was certain to be torn asunder. How could she kiss him like that, knowing what she did?

He broke the kiss, letting go of her. It was too much. It was all too much. Turning away, he cleared his throat casually, hoping she hadn't noticed.

"I'll leave you to your work then. If you really find going out to be absolutely necessary, far be it from me to stop you."

A moment of silence hung between them.

"I won't be long."

"I should hope not."

There was a glimmer of hesitation within her. Why did he want her to stay in? She had been running errands for as long as she'd been here, and it had never bothered him before. Was he really missing her? He hardly seemed the clingy type, yet here they were. She pulled on her jacket, feeling unsettled and unsure. But, resolving herself to her work, she headed out, ready to get answers.


	28. Chapter 28

Two years prior

"Been having fun?"

She turned to look at him as she unpacked the groceries, "Pardon?"

He swirled his wine about in his glass, doing his best impression of a distracted man as he leaned against the doorway, "I asked if you had been having fun."

"I… As much fun as grocery shopping can be."

He sauntered forward casually, looking at anything but her. She bristled at the movement, not trusting it for a moment.

"I hear you've made a friend," his mouth cracked into a smile. Now that he was looking at her, she very much wished he wouldn't.

"A friend?"

"A checkout boy who fancies you."

She shook her head disbelievingly, irritated that he had put on a show for such a juvenile reason, "Oh yes? And where'd you hear such a thing?"

Catching her wrist, he stopped her in the middle of putting away a can, "I have eyes everywhere, Countess. Surely you know that by now."

She wrenched her hand from his, looking rather bothered and disgusted, "Am I being accused of something?"

"Is there anything for you to be accused of?"

"You're the one with eyes everywhere, you tell me." She stared up at him, defiant, only the slightest quiver of fear in her voice.

He took a slow sip from his drink. He knew she had done nothing, of course. But still, the possibility was there. What would his men say if she cheated on him with a grocery clerk?

"You plead your innocence then?"

"I plead that you're an irrational lunatic." Her jaw tightened at the end of her sentence, too late to catch her words. He hid his smile beneath a leering smirk, hoping to mask his enjoyment. No, he wouldn't share her, much less with some adolescent kid.

"Is that so? Well then, that makes me quite dangerous, doesn't it? Who knows what I might do?" He nodded solemnly, "Why, I might even go as far as to strike out at random civilians for no reason at all. Of course, if someone were to give me a reason, that would be all the worse…"

Her face paled, "You can't possibly be serious."

Leaning in so that their noses almost touched, he could perfectly see every fleck of color in her colorless eyes, "Can't I?"

"Is that how much you hate me? You'd kill someone just for showing me kindness?"

"Is that what constitutes kindness nowadays?"

"You wouldn't know."

"Is it really so ignoble to protect my own wife?"

"Protect from what?"

"The consequences of her own damn actions."

"I've told you, nothing happened-"

"I'm aware."

She blinked up at him, taking a moment to understand, "You're aware?"

"Of course; I told you, I have eyes everywhere."

"Then why waste my- our time like this?"

"I told you, I'm saving you from your damn self."

"Is that so?" she crossed her arms, impossibly irritated.

"Absolutely, Dearest. You know I only have your best interests at heart," the way his lips curled around the words, she doubted even he believed it.

"And what are my best interests then?"

"You know you will never find anything better than this, right?"

Her jaw stiffened involuntarily, "Is that a threat?"

"No, it's a fact," reaching out, he lightly tapped the tip of her nose. "You can go wherever you want, see whoever you like, do whatever you please, but in the end, this will always be the best you deserve." She recoiled from the touch, grimacing. He only smiled. "No matter how many grocery boys you flirt with, you will always come back to me at the end of the day."

"I-" she shook her head, clearing her thoughts, "this is not a conversation I am having with you."

"Too late for that. And do you know why?" He caught her face between his hands, tilting her head up so that she was forced to look at him, "Do you know why I am and will always be the best you'll ever have, obvious rational aside?"

Coldly, she stared at him, not wanting to provoke an answer.

"Because I've already decided that you're mine."

She was forced to spend the next week painstakingly scrubbing every floor in the house for stomping on his foot so hard, but she didn't regret the action.


	29. Chapter 29

He stared at the ceiling, feeling like an absolute imbecile. She had been so quiet all throughout dinner, stuck inside her own treacherous thoughts, no doubt. How many times did she need to teach him not to trust her? And yet, obstinately he held on, wanting them to be on the same team. He pressed his palms to his eyes, sighing. The heart was a stupid thing, entirely overrated. Which was why he'd done away with his long ago. But here she was, a Pandora's box of possibilities, and all she cared about was destroying him every way she could. He knew he ought to do something, to take preemptive vengeance for her betrayal, but he couldn't bring himself to, still holding out hope.

Hours later, her heart was still thrumming excitedly. She had been right; it was a sonnet, and it was for her.

"The forward violet thus did I chide:

Sweet thief, whence didst thou steal thy sweet that smells,

If not from my love's breath? The purple pride

Which on thy soft cheek for complexion dwells."

Violet, that was the word they changed. Violet. Someone was trying to tell her to be prepared, though for what she did not know. She had been lost in a positive storm of thoughts since she'd found out, trying desperately to grab things as they passed. She was still missing the middle of the message, still unsure of what she was being told.

She had checked out some more of the Shakespearean plays that included English armies, but as she had predicted, there were a lot of them. She only hoped she had enough time to decode it before it was too late.

And then there was the issue of her doting husband. She'd never seen him so crestfallen. Usually his loses brought him anger and indignation, so she couldn't imagine what might have happened to make him so quietly withdrawn. It was strangely uncomfortable. Perhaps he did miss her, like he said. It was implausible, but stranger things had happened. She'd learned not to guess at his actions, only to take them as they came. After all, he did claim to love her. But for him to miss her? She tried to picture her days without him, and the feeling left her haunted. "Disgusting," she chastised herself. Would she never learn not to care? But she did care, deeply and thoroughly and horribly.

Distractedly, she made her way up the stairs, only now realizing how exhausted she was. Opening the door to the bedroom, she was surprised to find him sprawled across the bed languidly.

He shifted himself up when she entered, not wanting to betray his vulnerability. Placing some books down on the dresser, she then walked over, sitting on the bed beside him.

"More Shakespeare?"

"Oh… yeah."

"Why the sudden interest?"

She shrugged nonchalantly, the vixen. Sighing, he looked away.

"Are you alright?"

He glanced up at her, surprised at the genuine concern in her voice.

"Are any of us ever?"

"What's happened?"

"Nothing has happened."

"You're just feeling particularly melodramatic then?"

"I take offense to that."

"As always."

"It's nothing that should bother you."

"You just seem… upset," she moved beside him.

He chuckled, running his hands along her legs before catching her hand in his own, pulling it towards his chest, "Oh yes?"

She looked down at him, staring up at her from the mattress. Was it possible for such a man to get lonely? She could feel his heart beating beneath her fingers, insistent and strong.

"Yes."

He lifted her hand, kissing her fingers lightly, "And what is it to you?"

"A happy husband is a happy house."

"Wow," he cocked his eyebrow in amusement, "how… conservative of you."

"I only mean hell rains down upon me when you're upset."

"I'm not upset."

"No?"

"How could I be with you looking like that?" He pulled her towards himself, kissing her softly on the lips. Her hands moved up from his chest until she was holding his face to hers, trying to taste a truth in his words. She felt a pang of disappointment when he broke the kiss, reclining against the bed again. Her stomach twisted, reminding her of just how lost she was. She shouldn't care about his happiness. She didn't. But still, it sat uneasily within her. Perhaps he was finally realizing regret at having kept her so long.

"You still seem sad."

"Don't give it a thought."

"No?"

"Not at all."

"That's a shame. I had a sure-fire way to cheer you up." She climbed over him, straddling him, her hands on his chest.

"Oh?"

"But if you don't need it-"

"There's no such thing as too much happiness, Darling. What scheme have you concocted now?"

"Nothing too grand."

"Oh?"

"No. You're a very simple man." She leaned down, pressing a kiss to his throat.

He frowned, "I take offense to that as well."

"Don't. It's a fact, not a judgement."

"Is this your plan? Because if so, it's absolutely terrible."

"It's not so terrible," she took his hands, pressing them to her thighs, dragging them up slowly.

"Actually," he smirked, taking his hands back and folding them behind his head, "why don't you just tell me what your plan is?"

He could see the anxious blush creep across her nose. It was adorable how she still thought she could surprise him.

"I don't think-"

"Come on, humor me.

"What-"

"You want to make me happy? Give me a show."

She regarded him a moment longer, and then leaning down, pressed a slow kiss to his mouth. He eagerly reciprocated, lost in the softness of her. She sighed against him, her nymphet smirk sending shivers across his skin.

"Am I not enough anymore?"

"Au contraire," he kissed her again, savoring the warmth of her lips.

She leaned back, crossing her arms over her body, pulling up the fabric of her dress. The cotton fell away with a whispering sound, her delicious skin taut as she stretched upwards. The dress spilled into a neglected pile on the bed, leaving behind an intriguing display of undergarments. She relaxed her muscles, watching his reaction quietly, her frame beautifully extrapolated upon by the lace. He cocked his eyebrow, a hungry, toothy smile creeping across his face.

"You do know me so well." She smiled quietly at the compliment, looking quite pleased with herself. He dusted his fingers over her, brushing the back of his hand up her side and over her hips. She shivered.

He pushed himself up, drawing her face down into a kiss. Her hands rested behind his neck as she willed herself fully into this moment, into the present. No past, no history, no consequences. Only this.

His hand ran from her cheek down her body, a seeping warmth that spread wonderfully as he caught her breast in his grip. She could feel him smile as a stuttering breath escaped her.

"My darling Violet," there was a purr in his voice as he caught her hand in his own, bringing it to his chest. Her fingers fumbled at the buttons, a nervous energy cascading over her. This was good. This was normal.

He watched her as she worked, an unforeseen patience in his eyes. She didn't stop at the last button, moving on to loosen his belt. It felt silly to still be so affected by the act, but she felt a knot of nervousness as her hand brushed against his swelling erection. When she looked up again there was a smoldering in his eyes. She leaned in again, kissing him, feeling the way he held her, protectively, wantingly. She sighed against his lips, shutting her eyes. He kissed the side of her face, moving along her jaw.

"Something wrong, Countess?"

She felt a smile on her lips, "What could possibly be wrong?"

"Nothing at all, but I thought I would ask anyway."

She kissed him again, a fuller, stronger kiss, opening her lips and inviting her tongue into his mouth. He enfolded her in his grip, bending her towards himself, catching her entirely in his arms. The feeling of him against her burned inside her, consumed her. This was everything she had. This was what she wanted.

She slid her hand against him experimentally, feeling the bony hardness of his ribs. She kept going, noting the hitch in his breath as she passed over his waist.

She could feel the anticipatory hardness of him through his open fly, the slight pressure as he pressed himself up to meet her. She slipped her fingers down, tracing him through the cloth, still somewhat nervous.

She kissed along the side of his neck, glad to hear his throaty groans as she pressed him back down, her free hand trailing back over his bare chest. He looked at her eagerly, expectantly, and it was everything.

Rearranging herself, she balanced on the edge of the bed, tugging off his slacks. He complied readily, unable to hide his enthusiasm. Moving over him, she left a quick chaste kiss on his lips. He moaned at the shortness of it, but then she was down against him, her hands intoxicatingly warm on his bare skin. Her fingers tucked beneath the elastic of his briefs, pulling them over his swollen erection. He managed to lift himself to his elbows, but then she was touching him, no more fabric left to hide the gentle heat of her, and it was all he could do not to collapse entirely. He breathed in sharply, gritting his teeth as she took him into her mouth, all warmth and perfection. Her one hand gripped his hip tightly, her fingers splayed across him while the other moved painfully slowly over the base of his cock, all delicacy and torturous attention.

"Fuck," he wished he could be more eloquent, but there was nothing more he could say to encapsulate what he meant. She was so goddamn small, so confident as she explored him that there was nothing else he could say.

"Is this okay?" she looked up at him, her eyes a damning well off innocence.

"That's- that's fine." He choked on the words as he spoke.

She frowned, "Just fine?"

"More than fine, wonderful-"

She hummed a note of dissatisfaction, her brow furrowed. And then she was taking him back into her mouth, her tongue sliding over the underside of his cock. He gripped the sheets tight, fighting the urge to tangle his fingers in her hair roughly, to pull her down against him, to thrust inside her.

She slid further down, humming a sharp note at the effort, unwittingly sending a jolt of pleasure through him at the vibration. Her other hand moved to his arousal as well, her lithe fingers tight against him, gripping him. He moaned, her tongue pressing beautifully to him as she slid back, careful.

She glanced up to check how she was doing, and the only thing stopping him from immediately gathering her up in his arms was the indescribably perfect picture she was creating. It was too perfect; her, between his knees, clad entirely in lace. He slid his hand through her hair as if to reassure her, not trusting his ability to be adequately eloquent. She bobbed her head back down against him, her hands warm as they pumped him, and he audibly gasped, reeling at the sensation. He could feel her strain, desperate to give him what he wanted, trying to please him as if he wasn't already dying at her hands. He wondered how many people would be willing to commit murder to be in his place right now. She pulled up against him and sparks popped in the back of his skull, synapses sending off fireworks of pleasure.

He could hear the strain in his voice as he groaned, growing increasingly desperate for release but not ready for this to be done just yet. He needed her; needed her to touch him, to want him, to be near him. In these moments she was his, unapologetically and unquestionably.

Her fingers closed around him beautifully, trying to compensate for what she couldn't reach. She was so careful, so thorough as she slid back down over him, all heat and wetness.

She looked back up at him again, her dark eyes watering, and he couldn't take it any longer.

Cupping her face in his hands, he drew her up, pulling her against his chest. She cried out in surprise, but then he was kissing her deeply, and she melted under his care, exuberant to be so needed. His hands wandered up her back, holding her against himself before pulling the thin straps of her negligee down, kissing the bare skin of her shoulders. His hands slid over her, pulling the insubstantial fabric away, exposing her breasts. She braced herself against him, kissing him back gladly as his arms circled around her hips, holding her tight, his swollen cock pressing against her.

"Shit, Violet-" his words were strained, pressed out from between his gritted teeth. She panted, trying to catch her breath as he pushed against her.

"Are you-"

His words were breathy, eager, "God, Violet, yes."

Balancing lightly, she sat up, easing herself down over him. She gasped as he filled her, the sound turning over to a groan as he rolled his hips upwards, enjoying her, savoring her. He gripped her hips tightly as she bobbed above him, her teeth parted in delicious bliss. She surrounded him, overwhelmed him as she moved, her legs tight to his sides, her voice falling across him. Her hands gripped the fabric on either side of his face, balling it in her tight fists. Catching her left wrist in his hand, he kissed it, pressing his teeth to her skin needfully.

"What a perfect wife," he smiled, his mouth still pressed to her. "Perfect, darling wife," he trailed his other hand up over her frame, bringing it to rest on her cheek. She cried out, a stuttering gasp, as he thrusted inside her. Tucking his thumb between her teeth, he held her tightly, a pleased smile on his face.

He drank in every bit of her-the furrowed crinkle of her eyebrows, the hot shine of her lips, the lift of her breasts as she moved above him. He wanted all of it, needed all of it. He needed all of her.

His hands continued to move across her, never still for too long. It felt like he was trying to memorize her, as if he would replicate her by touch alone. His hands slid down, wrapped behind her, before trailing up her back, holding her firmly. When she met his eyes, they were filled with a pleased enamoration, a happy, desperate thirst.

"Perfect, darling Violet."

"No 'my' this time?" Her words were broken up by her ragged breath.

He groaned, briefly distracted, before smiling up at her tiredly, "I thought the 'my' was implied."

"I would prefer it wasn't."

"Oh, yes?"

"Call it job security."

He rolled his hips up against hers, pressing himself deep within her. She gasped, trying to resynchronize herself with his increasingly desperate movements before giving up and just letting him take control.

He smirked, glad for her exuberant reaction.

"My Violet," he pushed himself up, meeting her in an open kiss, enjoying the flick of her tongue against his own. "My wonderful, beautiful Violet." He began to kiss alongside her jaw, feeling her breath hitch with each deep thrust. Her arms wrapped around his shoulders, her voice trembling as she gave audible cries with each rocking movement. He breathed in the scent of her, the sweaty and herbal and electrifying scent of her. Her fingers scratched at his back as she clung to him.

"Don't stop- I- Oh my god-" her half-formed sentences ran together as her grip tightened, her climax swelling within her, ready to burst out into feverish pleasure.

He kissed the skin of her neck, purposefully slowing his pace, "Not yet. Make me believe that you're mine."

"I-" she stopped, watching his eager expression. Leaning in, she brought his lips to her own. Her fingers tangled in his hair, holding his face as she kissed him, a wondering, penetrating kiss that she hoped said all the things she couldn't. Her fingers slipped over his cheekbones, still holding him to herself, still trying to write her desperate message out beneath his tongue- There is no one else and nothing else. Everything I have belongs to you. I want you, I need you.

The air skirted hot over her lips as she drew her breath in, a contented sigh lost in the sound.

"I am yours. All of me is yours."

He smiled, a breathy laugh escaping him, "All of you?"

"All that you want."

"Then every bit must indeed be mine twice over."

He kissed her firmly, paying attention to every detail of the way she felt against him. She was miraculous, she was beautiful, she was-

She was Violet.

Perfectly disastrous and wonderfully destructive Violet.

She held the sides of his face, crying out her pleasure. He wished he could inhale the sound, could make it a part of him. He wanted to carry that sound with him forever.

She fell gasping upon his shoulder, still clutching him tightly as he continued to thrust inside her, edging towards his own release. Her face pressed to his neck, exhausted and radiant and impossibly warm. She whimpered softly as he continued to buck against her, thrusting into her quickly. He kissed the side of her face, the skin of her shoulder, drunk off the way she enveloped him in her grip, holding him as if she never meant to let go. Gasping against her, he finished, digging his fingers into her, not wanting her to slip away. She was his. She belonged to him.

Sighing, relieved, he leaned back, falling upon the bed. Gingerly, she lay beside him, fitting herself into the crook of his arm, closing her eyes tight.

This was right. This was her. She was his and that was who she was. He wanted her in all of her misery and horror, and that wasn't an offer she could afford to turn down.

Slowly, his hand began to trace over her skin, wandering over the softness of her breasts and stomach. She felt the bed shift as he moved, and then his lips were against the crook of her neck, pressing slow kisses to her jugular.

She sighed, bringing her hand up to rest on the side of his face. He continued to kiss along her flushed skin, catching her fingers betwixt his own, pressing his lips to the tender skin at the inside of her wrist.

"My Violet."

She craned her neck, sighing tiredly, not wanting him to stop. His touch was wonderful against her, gentle and warm, sending shivers down her. He kissed her shoulder, her chest, beneath her chin, along her face, murmuring quiet praises as he went. His hands were so delicate against her, so careful in his touch. He pressed a kiss to her jaw, his kind fingers tight against her waist.

"Tell me again." She said it so quietly she wasn't sure he even heard at first. There was a pause as he pulled back, looking down at her.

"That you're mine?"

"No."

There was a heavy silence as he hesitated, "Do you promise not to hit me?"

"Promise."

She could feel his pulsing heart still racing as he took her hand, softly kissing her fingers, biding his time. As he brought his hand up to cup her face, she held onto his wrist, watching his expression carefully.

"Violet," he stared down at her. She didn't let him finish, pulling him into a deep kiss that encapsulated perfectly all he had meant to say.


	30. Chapter 30

Five years prior

She liked having her hands in the dirt. No matter the heat of the day, the earth was always cool, always fresh against her fingers. The work was arduous at first, of course, eventually slipping into a raw tedium, but she much preferred that to the uprooting and clearing the beginning necessitated. Not that she had minded the work, of course. Sometimes the best way to grieve is to work the muscles raw. That's how it had been when she started—the strain of clearing out the overgrown backyard was nothing compared to the painful infected throbbing of her heart, the terror of having to wake up every single morning and continue to exist. The work was blinding, simple; take what shouldn't be growing and remove it. Before long the yard had become a dark field, the soil fragrant as she turned it, prepared it.

The planting had been less difficult, though it had come with its own challenges. It felt like grave digging, the shovel deep in the earth, the hard crunch of breaking soil. It was impossible not to imagine her own denouement, not to think on coffins and sepulchers and caskets. And yet, she kept digging, kept planting until the dark ground lay fallow. And she would sit, would let the smell of the upturned dirt sink into her clothes, her hair, so that no matter how hard she scrubbed her hands, there always seemed to be dirt caught beneath her nails.

That's the way it was now; all stillness and depth. Eventually it would grow, something would sprout. Klaus had included tips on helpful plants in his latest letter, both of them clinging desperately to this little happiness. There wasn't an abundance of niceties in her life to speak of, so when she had a moment of happiness to give him, he held onto it for all it was worth, did everything he could despite the distance to encourage it. She could tell he was worried for her, and there was no reason for him not to be. She was worried too, but not for the same reasons. She didn't fear death or dismemberment or any of the other lovely threats shuffled her way. Mostly she feared for the day when death stopped being something that could be used against her, was no longer a punishment or deterrent.

There had been so many stones in the soil. She'd set them aside into a neglected pile, envisioning a sort of aqueduct system she could build later with some other lonely pieces she had scavenged. Not to say for certain she would, though. Sometimes just because you can make something easier doesn't mean you necessarily have to. She liked the healthy mess, liked the chance to be outdoors and out of the dust, away from hands and eyes and whispering voices. She liked the idea of every bit of it coming from her own hands. Although, there was always the possibility she may design a system that took better care of the plants than she could, but that was an issue for later. There weren't even any plants yet; she was getting ahead of herself.

Her legs were cramped when she stood, not having realized how long she had knelt on the ground. The weeds had taken to the now loose soil with abandon, and she had to be careful lest they take over the entire enterprise. She didn't have much, so this she would guard. This, she would keep.


	31. Chapter 31

She was in the library when the man approached her. It was his hat she noticed first, how strange it was that he was wearing it indoors. He wasn't particularly tall, and the hat he wore was pulled low over his forehead. She glanced at him through the empty space through which he'd appeared, made betwixt the aisles after she'd lifted a rather hefty hardback off the shelf. Although, appeared was perhaps the wrong word. He was already there when she took the book down, already looking down towards her. Unlike most persons who become embarrassed upon being caught at spying, he had only stared back, regarding her placidly, keeping silent eye contact. Feeling vaguely unsettled, she slid the volume back into place, quickly walking down the aisle, relieved when she didn't hear him follow.

She needed to figure out the body of the message, the purpose of the note. Couldn't they have picked something less frustrating than Shakespeare? She'd read through at least three plays already, all stiff and interesting in their own ways, but none of them useful. Perhaps the mid part of the note followed a code sequence all its own, different from the beginning and end. But no, that would make even less sense.

What did they want with her, anyway? What could she possibly do for them? She had nothing to offer them that they didn't already have, nothing that they couldn't just take. She reached for a second book, an anthology of poetry. Quietly, an arm reached up from behind her, grabbing the book and extending it towards her. A dull fear swelled in her belly at the realization that it was the same man as before.

She took the book politely, smiling tensely, "Thank you."

He said nothing in return, made no indication of acknowledgement or amicability.

She had just decided to put the book back and shut the door on the whole affair when he whispered to her in a quiet hiss.

"Have you been good to your mother?"

"... I'm an adult, sir." Perhaps he thought she was a lost child, but he only scrutinized her more closely at her response. Glancing nervously about, she realized just how far back in the building she was, and how alone they were. Feeling the weight of the book in her hands, she quickly surmised that it would make a proper weapon should it have to, though it would pain her greatly to do so.

"Surely you are a veritably fine daughter."

"Thank you, lovely meeting you," turning quickly, she tried to leave but he stepped into the aisle, his hands held out to stop her.

"You're Violet, aren't you?"

The blood left her face. Again she tightened her grip over the book in her hands. He was taller than she was, but she could outrun him if she had head start enough.

"Do I know you?"

"Evidently not. But I know you."

"If you don't let me pass, I'll scream." The time for decorum was long gone.

"No! I mean you no harm, I only- You have received our letter, yes?"

Her insides tightened, her heart a hammer against her spine, "Your letter? Were you the one who left it?"

"In the royal sense, yes, but personally? No. You have received it then?"

"I found it, if that's what you mean."

"And yet you made no attempt to reply?"

"I'm not altogether certain what I'm replying to."

He sighed, glancing towards the far wall. She looked, but couldn't see anything he would be looking at.

"Fine. Reply at your soonest convenience, or at least let us know what you're thinking." Turning curtly he walked away.

"What I'm thinking about what?" she followed him, intent on keeping him from drowning her in any more mystery. He didn't reply, didn't turn back even to discourage her from failing him.

"Miss, you need to check that out-"

She only turned to glance at the librarian a second, but that was time enough for the man to slip away, disappearing into the outside street. She cursed quietly, frustrated and a bit terrified. What the hell did they want? What did he mean by any of it? Surely he was a member of this organization—did that mean he knew her siblings? The vague threatening nature of his appearance did nothing to calm her, only adding to the urgency she felt to finally decode the message. There was no time left; evidently she had taken too long already. What could she do? If they were threatening her, coming after her now, how was she supposed to protect herself? Perhaps they sought retaliation for the last plot against them. She had nothing to do with that though; did she? Did she dare take risks with the people who looked over her siblings' lives? She had had the opportunity to work on her own, and she hadn't been able to do it. She needed help, but as was often the case in her life, she found herself completely helpless.

A chill ran down her spine like a droplet of ice water. Perhaps she wasn't entirely helpless.


	32. Chapter 32

One year prior

He would be lying if he said he didn't enjoy sleeping beside her. He wasn't a man inclined to sharing, but did it count as sharing if he owned her? There must be some leeway there. In any case, he liked having her near, close enough to touch. He liked touching her, liked convincing his hands that she was here beside him. It wasn't a matter of arousal, it was more akin to contentment, satisfaction. He liked the softness of her sleeping form, the way she didn't look at him with such distaste, flinching away. That's not to say that he didn't gain any erotic satisfaction from her presence, of course. That was a special happiness, the unique experience of her beneath him, giving in to him, the fretful dig of her fingers on his skin. In those moments she was a house fire, the sound of the getaway car, hissed words of hatred from an enemy you had forgotten. She was pulsing and alive and spiteful and his.

When she slept, it was much softer, much kinder. So long as he was cautious not to wake her, he could wrap an arm over her waist, feel the patient heat of her body as he simply held her, watched the flutter of her eyes behind her eyelids. It seemed impossible that she could be so still; more than once he had checked for a pulse just to be sure that she was still there, still Violet despite the quiet. Her long hair spread across the entire pillow, contrasting sharply with the pale softness of her face. She had always been beautiful, had always been pleasurable to look at, but it was different somehow now that he could touch her. It was as if her very structure had changed, and all of a sudden she was made up of composite parts, no longer settling to be just one thing in his mind. She was complex, prone to unpredictable change, and so painfully, painfully human.

And she would come down in the morning, would kiss him on his blasphemous mouth in exchange for some shitty coffee. People killed over faces like hers, and here she was giving herself away for some shitty coffee. Perhaps she didn't know, hadn't had the chance to learn what a pretty face can accomplish in this world. How else could she have fallen so easily into his arms, driven by loneliness into his bed? He hadn't any illusions on the matter, he knew how it worked.

She had that perfect balance of sweetness and spite that had made lesser men gods. Did she know her own potential? If nothing else, she was fertile ground for disillusionment, would easily be seduced into desire of power. After all, for a girl who had never had any, power was a perfect motivator. So she could hate him now all she wished; eventually she would have to fall to him, would have to renounce her childish ideals, so long instilled within her with cult-like vigor. She'd break, but until then, he at least had the pleasure of waking with her head against his chest, exhausted and relatively safe in his arms.


	33. Chapter 33

"I need your help."

"You need MY help?" He glanced up at her from where he was draped in his chair, smirking, "How unusual."

"Please, I'm being serious."

"Uncomfortably so." Reaching up languidly, he beckoned her forward. Hesitantly, she stepped toward him, clutching a sheet of paper tight to herself. He didn't move to get up, instead gesturing for her to move closer towards him. Once she was within reach, he brushed at her legs lightly with his fingers, pulling her until she stood neatly between his knees, a grey trace of fear across her countenance. Not fear of him, of something else. A primal urge rose in his chest to kill anything that made her feel that way. She was his wife, and he alone was the greatest terror she must ever endure. "What have you gotten into now?"

"I'm not sure. That's partially what I need your help with."

"Judging from your expression, I can only presume it's ghost-related."

"Nothing quite so fantastic, I hope."

"It's a rare occasion where truth isn't stranger than fiction. Here, let me see-"

He held his hand out, and after a moment of indecision, she relinquished the paper into his grip. He perused it slowly, pretending it was the first time he had read her cryptic note. So even with all the books she filled her head with, she still hadn't been able to figure it out?

"Where'd you get this?"

"It was in a book I checked out," and without any further prying on his part, the entire story fell out.

It was hard to hide the amusement from his face, how distraught she had become over every little thing. She told him about the code as if he wouldn't already know, though he was relatively proud of her for figuring it out. She told him about the books, about her relative success up until her scare in the library. At that he actually did smirk, earning a look of admonishment from her.

"Stop laughing at me."

"I'm not laughing at you. It's just, for all their supposed intelligence, they still haven't figured out how to do anything without all the smoke and mirrors."

"Still, can you focus?"

"I am focused, Darling, and it's really not all that dire."

"No? A mysterious organization that you tried to eradicate contacting me isn't all that serious?"

"It's more of their old nonsense."

"You can read it?"

"Of course I can read it. You underestimate me time and time again, Countess."

"Then what's the middle? What's the message?"

"Simple. 'We are coming.'"

She stared at him emptily, "We are coming?"

"Violet, We are coming, Be prepared."

"And what part of that is not serious to you?" Hurriedly, she took the paper back from him.

"It's not a threat."

"It certainly reads like one!"

"It's their way of letting you RSVP to your rescue mission."

"Rescue mission?"

"Your redemption is nigh, orphan."

Orphan. He hadn't called her that in ages. It still bristled against her skin, rekindled that ember of hatred. He didn't say it harshly though, didn't spit it into the air like he used to. There was a sorrow to his sarcasm, defensive and hurting.

"But why?" He raised his eyebrow at her. "I mean, why now?"

"Who knows? Perhaps your little stunt was just stupid enough to gain their attention."

"I don't understand."

"Get used to that."

She looked down at him from over the paper, anxiety making her fingers tight against the edges, "What do I do?"

"What do you mean?"

"They're coming; what do I do?"

"Same thing as always—whatever you please."

The nonchalance of his tone hurt, stinging her chest like a fired tong.

"You don't care?"

"I'm not the one at question here."

"What happens, when they come?"

"They take you and indoctrinate you, and you live out the rest of your pretty life, however long that may be, with your siblings fighting for 'nobility' and 'honor.' Presumably."

"And you?"

"For the first time in a while, I gain a powerful enemy." He smirked, but the gesture was cold.

"You say that as if I was ever in agreement with you."

"There's a difference, orphan."

"Stop calling me that." The word was a slap to her face, a visceral reminder of all her fourteen-year-old fears and terrors. It made her small again, weak and lonely.

"Why? Am I wrong?"

"Do you want me to go?"

"Do you want to go?" The question gave her pause. After years of dreaming after escape, she didn't expect that question to be so difficult to answer.

"I… don't know."

"I won't stop you." He spoke plainly, his tone flat, lacking all of his usual expression.

"I genuinely, I don't know." She tried to give her own voice substance and was disappointed when it wavered.

"Well then. You have time enough. No need to decide right now." He should have seen this day coming, should have known this bit of victory couldn't last. He tried to stand, desperate to leave the room, but she didn't move to let him pass. He resettled in his chair, pulling from all his acting talent to make his countenance a mask of indifference. "Is there something else you need?"

Tears stood in the corners of her eyes, caught on her dark eyelashes. Oh great, was she going to cry now? His insides tensed in awful anticipation, yet, to her credit, she didn't let any of them fall.

"You want me to go, then." Her voice had lost all the girlish fear it once held, now the certain and commanding tone of an adult. It wasn't a question, it was a statement. A ridiculous, untrue statement, but a statement.

"You're acting hysterical."

"You think I'm some sort of rental you can make a return on when it becomes inconvenient? If you want me to go, at least say so." The imperative expression in her words stuck in his throat, keeping him from forming a properly coherent answer. Of course I want you, he wanted to say, wanted to shake her. You're the only thing I've ever had and still wanted. Truth be told, he had never been certain he had her at all. If anything, he was the one locked to her, faithfully, totally, and consumingly. Would she have him beg her to stay just for the laugh of it? Pretend to falter in her decision just to see him get on his knees? For a moment he considered it. He wanted to tell her again that he loved her, that he needed her. He wanted to hear her sigh in contentment as he called her his, and to hear her say again "I am yours." He wanted her to be his, yes, but tangled within that came the desire to also be hers. He wanted to be the hand she reached for, the company she desired. He wanted to say all of these things, but what came out was-

"Don't act stupid, orphan."

He hadn't even time to realize the quick decision he had made to hurt her as badly as she had hurt him, but the moment the words left his mouth he regretted them. Luckily, she didn't cry, only slapped him hard across the face. He didn't even register the motion at first, only hearing a loud crack, and then realized he was looking at the far wall. When he looked back to her, holding his jaw, the tears had finally fallen from her glassed eyes. She didn't seem to notice, her expression fixed in a look of steely hatred.

He stood slowly, watching the bud of fear cross her as she craned her neck up, holding his gaze. She didn't step back, didn't move her planted feet, and so they stood chest to chest, rigid and cold. Slowly, deliberately, he reached towards her face. Only a slight tremor betrayed her fear, but to her credit, she didn't flinch. Wordlessly, he brushed her wet cheeks, and then wrapping his arms around her, pulled her to his chest.

..

...

..

AN-

Sorry for the late update! School life has been wild lately.

I'm dedicating this chapter to Musicanonzeke as thanks for the lovely package they sent me with a whole bunch of cool things that I have been loosing my mind over! Y'all are so good and special to me.

Cheers!


	34. Chapter 34

She wept silently, cried empty tears that didn't say anything and yet demanded to be felt. He held her firmly, his lithe hands occasionally brushing at the back of her head as if to soothe her. She didn't know what she wanted, and this was only making it all the more impossible. She struggled briefly, trying to formulate an apology, but eventually gave it over, deeming the task unnecessary. He deserved every bit of her hatred, every ounce of her malice and revenge. And yet, when she tucked her head against his neck, there was nothing but a desire to be held, to be wanted. She took a steadying breath, forcing the scent of him deep into her lungs. He permeated everything she had, everything she was. There was no reason for her to stay, and yet she wasn't ready yet for the finality of deciding to go. God, to be free of thought, free of consciousness… She wanted to float blissfully unaware through existence, never hurting nor stopping.

She didn't decide to kiss him so much as she needed to. It wasn't a promise nor a decision, but it was a moment of contact wherein she wasn't quite so alone. He held her tight, fingers tangled in her hair. Limply she clung to him as he stepped forward, pressing her back to the wall.

His mouth met with hers roughly, shoving her backwards in a way that was simultaneously comfortable and tense. His fingers balled in her hair, forcing her head back so that he could slip his tongue into her mouth. She groaned, tightening her grip over his shoulders.

"Do whatever you wish. Wherever you go, you will always be mine." She could leave if she wanted, but she'd never be rid of him, would never be rid of that fact that he was the first to have her, to want her, to love her. He was the first to make her bend beneath him, powerful and wanting.

She didn't respond but breathed heavy in his ear as he trailed a hand down her neck, feeling her hard collar bone beneath his fingers as he pushed her back, claiming his right to touch her. His hand fanned over her, enjoying the thrum of her heart beneath his palm, desperate and quick. Pressing a hand against his chest, she slipped her tongue behind his teeth, daring him to push back, the vixen. Nymph. Succubus.

He kept his grip in her hair, pushing his thigh between her legs. Tantalizingly she groaned, inadvertently pressing his tongue against the sharpness of her teeth. Slowly, she moved her hand from behind his neck, trailing it down his shoulder and up his arm until her fingers intertwined with his own. Purposefully, she pulled his hand from her shoulder, moving it down to her breast, pressing it firmly.

Caught between the giddy seduction of having her tell him where to touch her and the overwhelming desire to be the one in control, he complied, albeit roughly. His hand dropped from her head down her back, moving her forward just enough to grab her ass, grinding her against himself. She gasped at the suddenness, giving him opportunity to again kiss along her inclined throat as her hands pressed to his chest, delicate and warm through the fabric of his shirt. Without prompting, she began to undo the buttons, clumsy in her speed.

He broke away from her neck, looking down on her with a satisfied smirk as she opened his shirt. And why shouldn't he? She could feel his arousal pressing against her as he pulled her forward by the hips. He was less patient with her clothing, opening her dress only enough to slip it over her shoulders and then simply pulling her brassiere down to expose her breasts. His movements were frantic, hungry, and his fingers dug into her as he kissed at the bare skin. Greedily he moved over her chest, desperate to touch all of her at once, be it by hand or mouth. Her skirt pooled over her waist, loose and neglected. She tried to press forward enough to actually remove the clothing, but he quickly shoved her back with a reprimanding gesture, punctuated with a pleased smirk.

"And where are you off to?"

"Just trying to take off my dress-"

"Why? I like you like this. All…" his eyes flicked over her as if to devour her, "undone."

"Oh yes?"

"Very much."

She reached down, tugging his belt open.

"Should I leave you alone with the dress then?"

"Don't be a brat."

"Or would your own reflection suffice?"

"Must you always misbehave?"

"It's what I do best."

"Always such unkind words. Perhaps you like it when I shut you up?"

He moved back to her neck then, his hands tracing a line down between her breasts, over her stomach, tucking his fingers beneath the hanging fabric of her dress.

"You-" she stopped as he moved slowly beneath the waist, waiting for her stuttering breath to catch before slipping his hand down between her legs, touching her lightly with gentle fingertips. Her knees buckled but he held her up, pinning her to the wall.

"There we go… That's better."

"I-" she opened her mouth to reply, but he shushed her again, smirking.

"Now, now. Let me do my job. I always take care of you, don't I?"

"How selfless."

"Indeed." He pressed his fingers inside her and she gasped, clinging to him all the more tightly. He kissed her again, her open lips letting his tongue in easily. Things were so much easier when she was compliant. She cried out suddenly, a staccato note between his lips. "That's good," he crooned, pleased with himself. It became easier every time. He traced rough exploratory circles, always coming back to the place that made her legs give out, her words stick. Again and again he moved against her clit until he was right on it, and she buried her face in his shoulder, her arms shaking as she held onto him, loud untethered cries coming out of her.

Lacing his hands behind her, he tugged up the fabric of her skirt, digging his fingers into her thighs. She cried out again at the suddenness but didn't make any effort to dissuade him, her lips still pressed to his shoulder in a effort to muffle the sound of her voice. He didn't mind that so terribly; she wasn't as good at it as she imagined, and he did like having her face so close to his as she came. It only took him a moment to tug off her undergarments, she was so pliable in his care. Hooking her fingers through the loops of his pants, she tugged him forward, pressing his tented groin against herself. He groaned, a hissing breath, momentarily losing his ground, but then tangled his fingers in her hair again, pulling her head back so that he could crash his lips against hers.

"I'm so glad it's finally long enough to do that," he muttered teasingly.

"Perhaps I'll cut it again after all."

"You're so impatient, Darling."

"And you're impossible."

"And you're mine." He pulled open the close of his pants, leaning forward so that he was pressing his hard cock against her bare abdomen. "My Violet, my wife, mine." She whimpered against his lips, trying to slide her tongue between his parted teeth. "Impatient little Violet, all mine."

The anticipation swelled within her as a need all its own as he lifted her, pressing her naked back firmly to the wall. She gasped as he entered her without bothering to be gradual or slow, simply penetrating her in a single deep stroke. He groaned, relieved and wanting at the sudden indulgence.

She whimpered softly and his fingers tightened in her hair, "There we go, that's good." Rhythmically he began to move inside her, her soft breaths building in time with the stiff pressure of his arousal, his fingers digging into her leg. "That's good, Violet. Good girl." There was a teasing smirk to his tone that she hadn't the energy to get riled up by, too occupied by the sensation of him against her. The pressure mounted, tingling along her spine, buzzing behind her eyes, making electric static of her bones. She clung to him, not even attempting to push back, only too glad to let him take the lead. He wasn't angry, but there was a forcefulness to his movements that made it easy to give him what he wanted. She WANTED to give him what he wanted; that wasn't something she felt often. Pressing her lips to his neck, she breathed in the scent of him, the taste of his sweat. He gave a particularly sharp thrust, digging his fingers into her. She groaned, sure that there must be marks all down her body from his possessive grip.

"You'll always be mine, Violet. Always mine. My wife, my Countess. No matter where you go, I will always be the best lover you ever had; that's not something you can forget lightly."

"As if I could forget."

"I'll make sure you don't." He kissed her neck roughly, his breath growing ragged, "I'll make damn sure you keep touching yourself and wishing it were me."

"Must I always do your work for you?" Her dirty quip delighted him, and he thrust particularly hard within her as half-hearted admonishment before leaning in again.

"No matter what happens, I will always be the man you let fuck you against a wall." His words were crisp, hissed against her ear, causing her to shiver.

"Is that really such an achievement? Surely we could find somewhere… easier?"

"You forget," he growled from between clenched teeth as he continued to thrust inside her, "you are mine, and this house is mine, and I will fuck you wherever in it I damn please. Yes?" He caught her jaw between his fingers, forcing her to look at him, "Yes?"

"Yes," she breathed, trying desperately to pull him against her.

"I own you, Countess." His voice was gravelly in her ear, a low baritone hiss. "Say that you're mine."

"I'm yours." Usually she had more bite to her, but he had all but ruined her appetite for anything other than her own imminent climax.

"Damnit, Violet, you have to mean it," he growled teasingly, unable to hide his pleasure as he pressed his lips to hers carelessly with a click of his tongue. "If you think I'm going to let you get off without-"

"I-" she began to protest but folded under his care, momentarily rendered breathless. "I'm yours. You know I'm yours. I want you. I need you."

His hand slipped down her frame, dancing over her tender breasts for too short a time before trailing down her stomach, down to where he remained between her legs.

"Say it again."

"I'm your-" her voice buzzed into a high pitch, cutting off her words in a gasp.

"Pardon?"

"I'm yours, yours!" The pads of his fingers rubbed against her perfectly, prying her climax out of her.

Leaning in, he whispered so softly she more felt the words than heard them, "Good girl. Again."

"I'm yours," this time, she managed to get the entire phrase out, albeit staggeringly. "I want you, only you." She could feel his smirk against her skin, her breast under his mouth.

"Only me?"

"Only you."

His tongue was hot against the sensitive skin. He grazed over her with his teeth, making her shudder as he came, his grip leaving the beginnings of bruises. His breath was warm as he moaned, exhaustion and relief in his voice.

Gently he lowered both of them to the floor, tangling her within his arms.

"Satisfied?" She joked quietly.

"Not quite." He kissed her again, tracing his hand over her naked skin. She shivered at the touch as he let his fingers graze down her stomach, pushing up the fabric of her skirt, once more pressing his fingers between her legs. She complied wearily, letting him move her as he wished.

Still starved for touch, she held him tight even as he moved his hand against her, again building up that friction and fervor.

"Violet. My Violet." His voice was quiet, a hum as he kissed her neck, her jaw, her shoulder.

"Yours?" Her voice was heavy with breathlessness as she arched into his touch, still needy.

"Mine."

She caught his face in her hands, kissing him deeply, wantingly. And then she was whimpering against his lips as he found the potential for another orgasm deep within her, savoring the beautiful sound she made as he coaxed it out, wishing to soak it all in. Her knees tightened against his sides, painful and lovely as they pressed into him. Her entire frame shook, trembling with exhaustion, tied between pleasure and the need to collapse. It gave him the very distinct impression that should he say the word, she would fall to pieces beneath his care. But no, there would be no rest. When had she ever allowed him rest? Her grip against his shoulders tightened as her exhaustion spilled over into ecstasy again, tired and clear and perfect, her voice delightful and lovely. She fell back against him, her chest rising and falling as she tried to regain her breath.

It was a few minutes before her eyes fluttered open, her hair mussed as she let herself be leaned backwards. Watching her amid all the mess, his heart caught in his throat. Tenderly, she brushed her hands over his shoulders, his face, stroking back the hair from his forehead. And then she smiled, and he could keep the words inside no longer.

"I still love you."

She paused only momentarily, and then continued to stroke back his hair with a sad smile.

"You almost sound surprised."

"I am. Aren't you?"

"Perhaps somewhat."

"Will you stay, then?" The words felt childish once he said them, but if this was what he had to do, so be it.

"What?"

"Will you stay?"

"Because you say you love me?"

"Because I DO love you."

She grew quiet, uncomfortably so, taking a long time to answer, "Do you think that that should be enough? The promise that you may love me?"

"I do love you." His hands tightened behind her back, holding her firm.

"And what do you do with that love?"

Taken aback, he stared down at her, unsure, "What do you mean?"

"You only ever say you love me." He blinked slowly, trying to understand. "You can't just say it. That doesn't make it real."

"I don't know what else to do."

"Then you don't love me."

"I do love you!" He was almost frantic with her disbelief. She only regarded him sadly, letting him lift her hand to kiss her knuckles. "Have you decided to go, then?"

Again she hesitated, "I don't know. I haven't had time to think yet."

"Alright," his tone was resigned, soft.

There was a pause in the air where they both just breathed, uncomfortably aware of their respective nakedness.

"Is there still a chance I could convince you to stay?"

"I haven't decided yet to leave."

"Then yes?"

Sighing, she ran a hand through her hair, "There's no reason you can't try, I suppose."

"I'll take the challenge." Bringing a hand to her face, he pulled her towards himself once again, kissing her.

"Is that your argument?" She smiled, only somewhat teasingly.

"No, simply a bit of selfishness." Lacing his arm tighter behind her, he pulled her further into his open lap, once more kissing her deeply.


	35. Chapter 35

There was a cup of coffee in her place when she came down the next morning. He was sitting at the table as well, pretending not to notice her as he read the paper.

"Since when do you care about current events?" She slid into the seat, graciously circling the cup with her hands.

"I've always cared about being in-the-know, Countess. It's the only way to stay ahead in this world."

"Ah," she nodded with false consideration, lifting the cup to her lips. "Honestly, I'm mostly just impressed you can still read, with all the times you've been knocked upside the head."

"Yes, unfortunate." He folded the paper carefully, clasping his hands together before him. "Too bad it's been so completely unavoidable."

"Perhaps you ought to look into another career path."

"Too late for that now." Looking away, he cleared his throat, "I've canceled the dinner for tonight."

"I won't complain for lack of work, but why?"

"We have more important matters to attend to."

"Such as?"

"Such as me successfully seducing you into staying."

"Interesting word choice, but go on."

"There's not much more for me to 'go on' about. I have a plan, and you will like it, and you will stay."

"Don't you worry that by telling me all this, you'll jinx it?"

"You ought to know by now that if there's one thing I'm good at, it's planning."

"And if there's one thing I'm good at, it's mucking up said plans."

"Fair point, but you underestimate my abilities."

"As always, I presume."

"Of course."

"Do the others know anything about… all this?"

He hesitated a moment, weighing his words, "No."

"Are you planning on telling them?"

"As of now, no."

"Do you have some sort of secondary secret revenge plan for when they do come?"

"You misunderstand me," he shook his head, "I told you that I won't make any effort to stop you, which includes not killing your ride."

"How chivalrous."

"Please understand how hard that is for me."

For a moment she actually did consider the thought. He wasn't exactly a man prone to not-murdering.

Softly she nodded, "Okay. But I still don't understand why you wouldn't tell the others."

"Do you want me to?"

"No, it just seems out of character."

"This is a matter that is entirely yours. I respect that."

"That's… unexpected. Thank you." Her surprise was genuine. What could he possibly gain from not telling the others? Curious, she tucked the thought to the back of her mind for later.

"Of course. I'm not an unreasonable man."

"Well…"

"I can be a reasonable man."

"Better."

He smiled gently, a slight smirk that somehow managed to animate his entire face with its effect.

"You're in rare form today. Feeling extra bold, are we?"

"Hardly. Perhaps you just haven't been paying attention."

"Impossible."

"Oh?"

"You make ignoring you an absolute impossibility."

"Am I really so insufferable?"

"Entirely," he smiled as he said it, before standing to leave.

"Wait," she held up a hand, "the coffee-"

"Free of charge. I'm feel particularly generous today." Without saying another word, he left the room, making her feel only the more curious as to what he could possibly have planned.


	36. Chapter 36

She fussed with her hair in the mirror, trying very hard to get it sit well. Obstinately, it refused, misbehaving in every way possible. Coming up behind her, he started buttoning the back of her dress.

"I can do that."

He ignored her protest, continuing up the back, "I've never understood why they make these things so difficult."

"It's all a part of the alluring mystery."

"The mystery?"

"Of whatever it is about clothes that makes men so fascinated."

"We've yet to figure out exactly what you keep underneath all that cloth."

"Which is why it's crucial to make them look impossible to put on."

"Exactly."

Reaching around her, he pulled taut the tie at her waist. Upset by his quick movement, she fell back, trying to keep her balance.

"Sorry," he muttered as her back collided with his chest. Stepped forward again, her hands flurried to her hair, embarrassed.

"It's fine."

More carefully, he tied the bow, making sure it was stiff enough to look nice but not so tight that it hurt. The dress was a good color on her, an emerald green that offset the purple tint to her skin. Leaning down, he pressed a kiss to the side of her neck, against a small mark left behind from the previous day.

"How perfectly juvenile," she sighed, pinning her hair back.

"I like it."

"That's unsurprising."

"And what is that supposed to mean?"

"It can mean whatever you want it to mean."

"So harsh, Darling."

She bit her tongue, holding her response, "You're the one who forced me to become harsh in order to survive." Instead she just hummed a noncommittal note, smiling with the corner of her mouth.

He smoothed his hands over her shoulders, down her arms, smiling as if admiring an act of his creation. She supposed he was, in a way. Who could say how things would be had he never intervened? Any one of the infinite possibilities floated in the air now, lost forever to her.


	37. Chapter 37

"I can't help but be a bit suspicious."

"Is my kindness really so unbelievable?"

"After five years, we haven't been out to dinner once."

"That can't possibly be true."

Rather than try to fight his blatant untruth, she let her gaze fall over the hazy yellow details of the room. It was all smoke and candlelight; really quite unsurprising that he had picked it.

"Regardless, I retain the right to suspicion."

"It's a good habit to have, I won't dissuade you."

Lifting the wine glass in front of her, she took a deep sip, "So what's the plan?"

"Plan?"

"Is a night out supposed to make me forget everything leading up to this point?"

"Depends on how good the night is." He averted his eyes from her cold stare, coughing uncomfortably when she didn't laugh at his joke. "Damn, Violet. Not everything has to be so serious. Can't you just have a good time for once?"

"Can I?"

"I'm not- This isn't a ploy. I'm not angling at anything; you can calm down."

A waiter brushed past their table, silently collecting plates, leading them into a heavy silence.

"And I'm supposed to believe that?" she spoke in a whispered tone, muffling her voice once the server had left.

"I'm allowed to be nice to you. Although if it would make you more comfortable, we can sit in silence."

"I'll pass."

"I thought you would." He took a drink from his own glass, "You couldn't be silent if you tried."

"Oh no?"

"No. You have entirely too much to say, too many opinions." She did smile at that, a sarcastic smirk. "See? You are more comfortable when I'm unkind."

"I'm used to it, is all."

He hadn't an immediate reply, too caught off guard by the damnation within the sentiment.

"I apologize, then."

"Don't- don't do that."

"Do what?"

"This. Whatever this is," she gestured towards him vaguely, "it's strange, and I don't like it."

"Excuse me?"

"Pretending like things are different, better. You'll exhaust yourself trying to keep it up."

"I'm only trying to show you that I'm capable of kindness."

"Suit yourself, but I have five years of experience to base my decision upon. A few nice restaurants can't change that."

"You think I'm trying to bribe you?"

"Aren't you?"

"No. There are easier things with which to bribe you. Do you really think I'm stupid enough to try to trick you? How long do you think it would take for you to figure me out?"

"Not long, evidently."

"Too quickly. Pardon me for showing you some courtesy, but I can promise you, Countess, any kindness I give is not a bribe. It's a gift."

"What's the difference?"

"I can show you fondness without making promises I don't intend to keep, can't I?"

"What do you gain, then?"

"Gain from what?"

"Why not bribe me? Why not make promises you can't keep if it gets you to your end? It's certainly out of character."

"If you stay, I don't want you to be able to pretend I plied you."

"Suddenly you don't want responsibility?"

"No, only, I don't want you acting like I am in any way forcing your hand in either direction."

"You expect me to believe you don't have an agenda?"

"I expect you to recognize that I will not be held accountable for your decisions."

"Why even bother to give me the choice then?"

"You act like it is mine to give."

"Isn't it?"

"What else can I do, Violet?" He leaned forward, his elbows braced against the table, fingers pressed together, "Lock you in the tower? Kick you out? I'm smart enough to know that you'll rebel against anything I choose. I don't want you to blame me when you inevitably figure out that nothing can ever make you happy. There is no right choice, only choices you can live with."

"Now you're just being a nihilist."

"Am I?"

"Who's to say I can't be happy?"

"What makes you think either of those options will make you happy?"

"Well, perhaps not now, but down the line-"

"Regardless, I don't claim any culpability for your plausible fulfillment."

"Don't you?"

"I don't."

"Then I'll leave."

"If you think that will make you happy, fine."

"You just said there is no happiness."

"And there shan't be, at least not in a clean, happy-ending sense."

"And why not?"

"Nothing will change."

"Everything will change."

"Everything?"

She nodded solemnly, "How could it not?"

"If you think this insignificant choice on your part will have any bearing on how your volunteers or I live our lives-"

"I don't."

"Then what changes?"

"Wherever I go, it will be my choice."

There was a heavy silence in the air between them as they both collected the weight of her words. Steadying himself, he took a sip of his drink. Tracing her finger around the rim of her glass, she stared down.

"I- Did you ever think of killing me? In the beginning?"

He looked up, startled by the frankness of her question, her calm face reflecting none of the emotional distress one would expect from such a thought.

"In the beginning? No. Not seriously, at least."

"Why not?"

"Honestly? I didn't want to move. It would raise a lot of questions I didn't have time to bother answering."

"When was the last time you did? Killed someone?" Looking down, he fell to serious contemplation of his drink before shrugging nonchalantly. "You don't remember?"

"I didn't exactly mark the date."

"Was it recent?"

"If I had killed anyone recently, you would know, wouldn't you?" He looked back up at her again, and his gaze was stiff, unfolding. Again they lapsed into silence, the chatter of the restaurant maddeningly loud. "Does the thought scare you?"

"It doesn't scare me."

"Do you enjoy it?"

"I don't-"

"Do you like the thought of sleeping with someone who has the capacity to kill?"

"Do you?" Her gaze was sharp and cutting, her hand snapping up quickly, "Don't answer that."

"You don't want to know?"

"I hear enough of your thoughts as is."

"You're not the teeniest bit curious?"

"I don't have to be. You've made your stance on the matter abundantly clear."

"I suppose I have." Smirking, he sank back into his chair, studying her. "Do I get to ask you questions now?"

"I didn't realize there were rules to conversation."

"All the same, I've played fair. Now I get two honest answers."

"Alright, fine."

"What was the first time you thought about me erotically?"

She physically recoiled from his words, pulling back, "Oh my god. You are the most infantile-"

"Too late, you already promised."

"I promised nothing."

"But you agreed, and your word is binding."

"I-" She sighed, resting her face against her hands, taking in a deep breath. "Fine. If you want to waste your question, fine."

"Well?"

She didn't move from her position, thinking.

"The first time was based entirely in fear."

"Fear?"

"Naturally. You didn't think I was stupid, did you? When you dropped me on that couch the first night, I cried from relief."

"I don't like this question anymore."

"You've already asked it."

"You know that wasn't what I meant."

"Then you should have clarified."

"I wasn't aware I was conversing with a genie."

"That isn't my fault." She shrugged, not feeling particularly sorry.

"You're cruel, Countess," he reprimanded her as she finished her wine.

"You still have one question left."

"I don't need it," lifting the carafe, he refilled her glass.

"That's seriously all you wanted to know?" She cocked an eyebrow in disbelief.

Shrugging, he rested his head upon his hand, "It's a piece of the puzzle I've yet to put in place. Almost everything else follows from that."

"Pardon?"

"You make very little sense at all outside of your own motives. Of course you wanted to kill me; you're like a child who bullies the girl he has a crush on."

"Are you accusing me of having a crush on you?"

"Well sure, anything can sound stupid when you say it like that. Perhaps the phrasing is weird, but yes, I am accusing you of having a crush on me."

"I can't believe-"

"Do you deny it?"

"Of course I deny it! Does it even count as a crush if you're married to the person?"

"Why do you ask?"

"To point out how stupid the question is!"

"I was smart enough to marry you. Smart enough to survive you, too."

"You're a real genius, aren't you?"

"I recognize the sarcasm, and I'm electing to ignore it."

"If I'm such a hassle, why not take the opportunity to be rid of me?"

"You know why."

Silently she shoved around the food on her plate, feeling the weight of the oppressive air around her.

"The first night you got me drunk." The words came out all pressed together, with hardly any space in between.

"Pardon?"

"Do you remember it?"

"That depends. When was it?"

"I stabbed a man with a fork."

"You know, I do seem to recall that," he smiled, amused.

"You gave me some wine and made me sit with you."

"And?"

"And," she gestured out, circling her hand. "That's… it."

He took a moment, parsing everything together, "Seriously?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

She shrugged, looking equally perplexed, "I don't know."

"Don't get me wrong, I recognize my irresistibility, but I've had more purposefully charming moments."

"Perhaps your definition of charming is the problem."

"Perhaps." They fell to quiet again, each avoiding the others gaze. "So… was it the wine, or?"

"Maybe? I don't know."

"It would explain a lot."

"It would. But not everything."

"No?"

"The wine didn't make me like you as a person or anything."

"I hardly think anyone's ever accused you of that."

"It was just- It was quiet. It was quiet and crept up on me like… I don't know. Just, all of a sudden, your hand was on my leg, and I didn't entirely hate it."

"Do you suppose stabbing a man had anything to do with it?"

"Be serious."

"I am. Once you stab someone, you tend to be in control of the situation. I think you just like being in control."

"Can you blame me?"

"It would make me a hypocrite if I did. Not to meddle in your affairs, but do you think giving your life over to a secret organization will ever allow you control again?"

"I thought you didn't want to meddle."

"I'm only trying to help. You're blind to yourself, Dearest. Why do you think you even have to bother choosing? Not because you want to stay with me, particularly; you just want the option of a life where you can make your own choices."

"Staying with you sounds about the worst way to do that."

"You've said it yourself, everything's different now."

"Spoken like a person with an agenda."

"I never claimed to be bipartisan. You know my platform, I'm only trying to speak to you from yours."

"And what's your platform, again?"

"That I love you."

For a moment it looked as if he would reach for her hand, but he stopped himself.

Sighing, she placed her hand to her forehead, steadying herself, "You know-"

"I know."

"You can't-"

"I didn't-"

"God damn it."

"Language."

"Sorry."

"No you're not."

"No," she brought her hand down to her chin, watching him sadly, "I'm not." The room clattered with the sounds of the other patrons. "Are you?"

He stared straight at her, unblinking in his conviction, an almost apologetic smirk ghosting across his lips as he took a sip of his wine, "No."


	38. Chapter 38

How long had it been since she had been able to be alone?

She sat in the dark of the dining room, slowly nursing a cup of tea. It felt strange to be drinking something so not-alcoholic so late at night.

Outside, the darkest part of night had settled over the street, a soothing cool to the feverish intensity of her worry. She stared through the glass of the window, not watching anything in particular, simply watching.

It felt silly to be unsure. Given the opportunity, shouldn't she want to be redeemed? If such a thing was even possible, that is. Perhaps it was just the notion that for the first time, she had been handed the possibility of changing a decision she had thought permanent at the time. Perhaps she was stupid enough to mourn the pain such a decision had caused her. Because it had been her choice that brought her here, not of her free volition, of course, but still. She had decided to protect her family over herself, and now had to decide how to best protect her family from herself. She could feel the weight of the last five years clinging to her like a thick layer of dirt. Absentmindedly, she brushed at the back of her arm.

Was it stupid of her to wish he would come down? His opinions were never helpful, but he was so certain of them that she could at least build off of that decisiveness. She knew what he'd say, of course; he was a fairly predictable man. He would lie, tell her things that sounded nice but meant very little at all. He'd brush back her hair, kiss her shoulder, and leave her feeling all the more confused in the painful light of the morning. That was what he was good at—twisting things about until nothing made any sense at all. She sighed, laying her head down against the cold wood of the table.

Maybe it didn't matter what she chose. Maybe she was the problem. She certainly had the track record to prove it. And if she really was such a jinx, wasn't the noble thing to stay with the enemy? Although, she wasn't certain she could even call him an enemy anymore. Perhaps that was the trouble. Maybe she was just creating chaos to hide from the fact that she could stay for the simple fact that she wanted to stay. Maybe not every choice had to be a moral one.

She felt guilty as soon as the thought passed through her mind. If anything, it was an indication that she had spent too long here, had picked up his reasoning too easily. She should leave then. Unless, she was so indoctrinated that she would be poison to the cause. Catching her face in her hands, she groaned.

How nice it would be to have someone else make decisions for her. She could survive just about anything, of that much she was certain. But choosing what to survive? She was no good at that. She could adapt to anything but choice.

Suddenly the room seemed too cold, and she was ready with a desire to go back to bed. Back to bed. He would be sleeping, unaware that any of this had transpired. The thought felt treacherous, unkind. She's stay downstairs just a little longer, then. Long enough for her to no longer care.

Maybe that was the answer. Maybe she didn't have to choose. Maybe she could simply isolate herself, build walls until no one cared enough to know her name. How lovely, to be completely incapable of bringing others pain. Softly, she drew a finger around the rim of her cup, listening to the quiet hiss of the wind as it rattled about outside.

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AN-

Hey guys!

Unfortunately, it's that time of year. Time for the obligatory "mid-semester chaos" warning. I'm going to do my damndest to keep updates happening weekly, but I'd rather skip a week and give you a well-written piece later than just throw in filler now. So, if suddenly between now and May I miss an update - I'm not dead. I'm not abandoning. I'm just probably asleep somewhere after a night of thesis work.

Cheers!


	39. Chapter 39

She wasn't beside him when he awoke. The absence scared him, made him nervous that she had disappeared off into the night. What was he supposed to do once she left? The change had been so gradual, so slow, he almost hadn't noticed it. But here he was, disinterested in anything that wasn't her. Nothing else held appeal, falling bland by comparison. It was a languishing feeling, awful and unfamiliar, sitting heavy in his gut.

Getting up, he braced himself, preparing for the worst. Perhaps he'd call up the troop for an impromptu bank heist, that could be fun. But no, the only heist he wanted to partake in was one where he kidnapped her back. He could be what she wanted, she only needed to give him a bit more time, why hadn't she given him enough time-

His thoughts were interrupted by the sight of her at the table. More specifically, the sight of her slumped over the table, sleeping, her cheek pressed to the back of her arm. A cold cup of tea sat beside her, forgotten. The knot in his gut untangled into a new, equally perplexing shape. She was such a ridiculous girl.

Standing in the doorway, he paused, wondering what he ought to do. It was still early; if he brought her upstairs she could sleep at least a while in bed. Knowing her, she'd become so embarrassed at having been caught that she'd refuse, obstinate. Maybe if he made enough noise, she would wake on her own, sparing them both.

Hesitantly, he stepped forward, tapping her shoulder. Jolting up, her hands pressed to the table in surprise. He flinched back, started at such a violent reaction.

"What time is it?" her voice was amusingly heavy.

"Time for me to put the coffee on evidently, seeing as you're busy with… whatever this was."

"I must have fallen asleep," she rubbed at her eyes.

"Presumably."

"What time is it?"

"You've already asked me that. Early enough that you can still go back to bed, unless the hardwood was to your liking?"

"I'm too tired for banter, give me time to wake up."

"Have I finally found it? The one time of day when you're compliant?"

"If you're finished, I'll go get dressed-" she stood.

"And if I'm not?"

"Hmm?" she looked up at her, her eyes still not entirely open, sleepiness rounding out the edges of her usual harsh demeanor. It was… endearing.

"If I'm not finished? What if I like having a sleepy wife who doesn't talk back?" He wrapped his arms behind her, pulling her tight against him. Her hands rested against his chest naturally, still not entirely certain as to what was happening.

"Alright, very funny, you got me, now if I could-" her words stuck at his expression. It was an expression she was well-acquainted with, one he made when he was reveling in the nefarious. "What?" He didn't reply, only making her more nervous. Gently, he ran a hand through her hair, smirking.

"I like you uncalculated."

"Why? So you can keep the upper hand?"

"Always so suspicious," he clicked his tongue. "You're more you when you're messy."

"Is that an insult?"

"It isn't."

"It certainly sounds like one."

He didn't reply to her doubt, his hand sliding back to her waist as he leaned down into a kiss. There was only a gentle press—no pressure, no demand, his lips simply resting against hers. A sigh escaped her before she could contain it. Embarrassed at being so easily undone, she leaned back, breaking the kiss.

"Now, whether or not you're finished, I'm off to get dressed:"

"You could sleep some more if you want, you know."

"And leave you unsupervised? Heaven forbid."

Gently patting her fingers against him, she stepped out of his embrace, very purposefully not looking back as she walked out into the hall.


	40. Chapter 40

"We're almost out of coffee, just so you know."

She felt her jaw clench at his words, a sudden spasm of nervousness zipping down her spine.

"Oh?" She took the proffered cup, gently tilting her head into the anticipated kiss, a chaste, distracted thing.

"I wasn't sure when you were going out next, but-"

"No, I can, I can go today." Her fingers curled around the ceramic cup, siphoning all the heat she could.

"Is something wrong?"

"Wrong? No, why would anything be wrong?" She only met his eyes fleetingly, not achieving the nonchalance she obviously hoped for.

"While such lies might confuse a lesser man, you forget the theatrical genius you are attempting to trick."

"Nothing's wrong, I've told you."

He smirked in a way he hoped was properly infuriating, settling in the chair beside hers, "Now this is an interesting situation. What on earth could be terrible and frightening enough to scare the intrepid Violet Baudelaire?"

"I'm not scared."

"You're not not scared. What's so horrible about running errands?" Suddenly his face changed, shifted to a more serious expression, "Did something happen? Did someone do something? I swear, you point to the person, I'll kill them-"

"God, no! Please don't kill any hapless grocery store clerks. No, it's only-" she hesitated, weighing her words, "What do I do if I see the man in the hat again?"

"The man in the hat?" He blinked, not comprehending, "He's not dangerous."

"No, but I, I don't know what I could possibly say to him."

Sitting back, he brought his hand to his chin in thought, "You could always just tell him to fuck off."

"Be serious."

"I am. It's a very real option."

"If I tell him- If I don't need-" she gestured vaguely with her hands, not entirely sure what she was trying to say. "I'm not ready for that interaction."

"Alright. It's a solvable enough problem."

"Is it?"

"Only if your husband is brilliant and handsome."

"Then I suppose-"

"I'll come with you."

She looked startled at the suggestion.

"You? You'll run errands?"

"I'm not as helpless as you assume. Once again, I lived a perfectly successful life without you."

"I just… Okay. Do you mind?"

"Yes, I have never been so horrifically inconvenienced in my entire life," he let his voice drip with sarcasm. "My god Violet, have you ever known me to do a single thing I did not want to do?"

"I suppose-"

"If I didn't want to, you wouldn't be able to make me."

"Oh?" Her eyebrow cocked, irritatingly amused, "You don't think so?"

"I know so."

"Whatever makes it easier for you." She stood, still smiling as she took a sip from her cup.

"What is that supposed to mean?" He stood as well, not liking the experience of being shorter than her.

"You don't think you've wrapped yourself around my finger?"

"I dare say I haven't!"

"Okay," she shrugged again, still smiling.

"If you don't want me to come-"

"No," she interrupted him just a bit too quickly for it to be casual. He smiled now as she blushed at her break in demeanor. "I only mean, I would appreciate it, but I'm indifferent."

"Good. Because I'm indifferent too."

"Good."

"Good!" He crossed his arms, straightening his back so that she could see just how much taller he was. They stood in a weird silence for a few moments, each regarding the other. "So… should we go?"

"Oh! Yes," she broke from the reverie, absentmindedly running a hand through her hair, "sure, just give me a sec."

Smirking, he began to reply but she held up a hand, cutting off any joke before he could make it.


	41. Chapter 41

"I disagree."

"I'm aware." She placed the jar into the basket, continuing down the aisle.

"Honestly, this is ridiculous. There is no need for one person to have so many options. Everything should come in two varieties; expensive or impoverished. Cut out all of this intermediate nonsense."

"You- Okay. Alright." She made another selection, not having the energy to deal with this oversized toddler of a man.

"Is this really where our food has been coming from?"

"Yes?"

"Glad to know you think so low of me."

"Here, I have a job for you," inhaling briskly, she turned to face him. Five seconds, she just needed five seconds of quiet. "The next aisle over has coffee, go and grab some. You like dark roasts."

He frowned, "You can't tell me what to like."

"I'm only telling you what you already like. Pick out the fanciest dark roast you can find; that's your mission."

"You don't know me as well as you think."

"Right again, as always. How on earth did you ever get so clever and charming? Now please. This is a very important job." Her monotone voice did nothing to dissuade him of the conviction within her praises, and so, with his pride properly fluffed, he made his way. Sighing, she closed her eyes, rubbing at her face. She had always enjoyed grocery shopping, but he was so disconnected, so entirely strange that he made the experience almost unbearable. He really had no idea how cooking worked, she was learning with incredible poinency. The man was hopelessly inexperienced, remarking upon every single choice she made. All she wanted to do was get what they needed and go. Tiredly, she placed another jar into the basket, heading over to meet him again.

The first thing she saw upon rounding the corner was a woman smiling pleasantly as he handed her a box of tea from the high shelf.

"Thank you so much," her voice was pleasant, warm, "I can never reach those. They should really stop putting them so high up."

"And deny gentlemen the right to help? Nonsense, we'd all be at a loss."

She laughed, a soft, sparkling sound, "Well, thank you all the same."

"Not at all, the pleasure is all mine," he smiled, all teeth. Of course he was charming when it was with someone besides her. Of course.

The woman tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, still smiling as she walked away.

He turned when she came up beside him, placing a hand upon his arm.

"Have you gotten the coffee?"

"Not yet." He frowned at the wall of options, indecisive.

"Here; this one. You like this one."

"Are you certain?"

"Positive." She placed the bag into her basket, unsure why her gut felt quite so heavy. "Are you ready to go? I'm ready to go."

"Why so rushed? Is everything okay?"

"I'm fine, you're just taking forever."

"There's no need to be so disagreeable."

"All the same, can we go?"

He gestured forward with a sweeping movement, ushering her ahead, "After you."

…

She hated the nonchalance in his step as he entered the kitchen, peering over her shoulder.

"Are you still cooking?"

"No, I just like cutting vegetables into very small pieces."

"I wouldn't blame you," he kissed the back of her neck. Again her spine tremored, urging her to just forgive him and get it over with. His hands rested on her hips, warm and firm. She thought about the way he had smiled at the woman again. It wasn't that she was jealous, she just hated being so viscerally reminded of the fact that he was a liar. The moment he was out of her sight, it no longer mattered what he said to her. All that mattered was that he got what he wanted.

Shrugging him off, she sidestepped, "You're distracting me."

"Oh, you find this distracting?" The tone in his voice was playful as his fingers danced back to her hips. She pictured the way his hands brushed against the woman's.

"Stop it! I'm serious."

Her tone grew heavy suddenly, almost angry. He froze, quickly recounting the last five minutes. He hadn't done anything to validate sudden anger. A bit sore at the rebuke, he stepped back, away from her.

"I only meant to ask if you were coming out any time soon. People will think I've killed you. Or worse, that you've grown tired of me."

"I'll be out eventually." Her tone was curt, rude. Quite frankly, he didn't care for it at all.

"What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Wrong with me?" She turned to look at him, gesturing with the shiny knife he had forgotten she held. "Nothing's wrong with me."

"Clearly something is," reaching out with a single finger, he pointed the knife away from himself. "Care to enlighten me on what horrific thing I've done this time?"

"Not everything is about you!"

"Most things are."

"Just, leave me alone for a bit, okay?"

"Not until you tell me what's wrong."

"I'm asking you to let me be. Now, please-"

"You're acting very suspicious, you know that, right?"

"You think everything is suspicious!"

"Isn't it?"

"No!"

"If i didn't know better, I'd accuse you of plotting against me."

"You know what? Fine. No wonder you're so paranoid about me going out. I can't leave you alone for five seconds without you flirting with strangers."

"Flirting with strangers?"

"Flirting with strangers!"

"When was I flirting with strangers?"

"In the grocery store!"

"Look, I can't help it if I'm naturally charming—it's no reason for you to get jealous!"

"Jealous?" she hated the pitch of her voice.

"Yes, jealous."

"Jealous of what, exactly? She can have you, I just don't particularly like your hypocrisy."

"Oh, so I'M a hypocrite?"

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Your life would become so much easier if you could just learn to say what you mean; lying to yourself doesn't make you a good person."

"I'm not fucking jealous."

"Alright, sure."

"I'm not. You go ahead and fuck whoever you want, see if I care."

"Maybe I will!"

"Fine!"

"Fine!"

"Fine!" She turned away sharply as the door shut behind him, her heart racing hard enough to burst out of her chest. Fuck. Why was everything so terrible?

If she wanted to be impossible, that was her prerogative. Maybe it would be best if she went after all. Not even breaking his stride, he refilled the glass of the first woman he saw, smiling wide in a way he hoped didn't look as infuriated as he felt.

"Relax. Enjoy yourself."

She shrank a bit beneath his gaze, "Oh! I- Thank you."

"Tell me," he leaned over the back of her chair, feeling the way his fingers clenched around his glass, "have you always been so pretty or have I just not noticed?"

Quickly, her eyes flicked about the room, "I-"

"Something wrong?"

"A bit worried your wife is gonna stab me."

"Her? You're afraid of her?" Gently, he touched her chin, tilting her head up, "You forget whose pocket she lives in."


	42. Chapter 42

Pressing her hands firm to the counter, she forced the air into her lungs. Alright. Maybe she had overreacted. Maybe. Definitely. She had definitely overreacted. Well, it was only fair; he had spent so much of their relationship throwing fits, it was about time she got a turn. Still, she supposed she ought to at least smooth things over.

That plan, however, quickly fell to shambles when she saw the woman hanging onto his arm. She was finally going to do it; she was actually going to kill him. He glanced up at her disinterestedly before reverting his attention back to the woman balanced on the arm of his chair. What an unbelievably horrific man. Smiling pleasantly, she walked over, plucking a random glass off the table.

"Anything I can get you?"

The woman eyed her warily, but evidently emboldened by their relative placements, smiled back, "Another drink would be lovely."

"Of course. How do you take it, neat or on the rocks?"

"Just wine actually would be fine."

"Not a liquor drinker?"

"I've always preferred the easier things."

"Of course." He really was only doing it to make her jealous, then. It wouldn't work. Her smile broadened as she caught his uncomfortable eye. If he wanted to keep insufferable company, then by god, she'd make him endure it. "I'll be back."

Why the fuck was this woman sitting on his chair? He hadn't asked her to, she had just done it. It was his fucking chair, not just any seat you could claim. He repressed his simmering anger, bringing it down to a low boil. If his wife wanted to act like a simpering idiot, then fine. That was her right. But there was no way he would let her win this argument.

Argument.

Even the word seemed asinine, so unnecessarily domestic. The woman—what was her name, Evette?—laughed at a joke he hadn't told. He put a hand on her waist.

Forcing her grimace into a smile, she handed the woman her drink. What even was her name? Estelle? In any case, she took it with both hands, almost purring.

"Thank you, ever so much."

"Only doing my duty as hostess." Lifting her own glass, she took a quick drink of the painfully bitter liquor. Estelle, for her own part, simply swirled her wine in the glass. "So, what are we talking about? What's clever?"

"Darling, no one really 'talks' at parties anymore," Evette smirked condescendingly.

"No?" Violet leaned back against the table. "What are we doing then?"

"Drinking, mostly."

"Oh yes?" Lifting her glass, she proffered it in a toast. God. He shouldn't have subjected what's-her-name to this. The poor woman didn't stand a fucking chance. With a quick clink, Violet unflinchingly downed the entirety of the glass, her eyes only flicking over to him for a fraction of a second. They were in a fight, he reminded himself; he shouldn't be wanting to search for the nearest available place to throw her down.

Placing her glass back on the table, she leaned back, navigating her shoulder to accidentally accentuate her body, "And once the drinking is done?"

"Have you never been to a party before?" Estelle snubbed her nose at her with a smirk, placing a firm hand on Olaf's shoulder.

"Only trying to learn more about you, you evidently fascinating person." She puffed her chest a bit at Violet's words, missing the heavy-handed insult entirely.

"Looking for inspiration?"

Violet nodded solemnly, "Always."

"I'm flattered, though I can't say surprised," with a well-manicured hand, she flipped her hair over her shoulder. "I've been a role model for many a young lady seeking to better herself."

"Naturally," refilling her drink, she perched upon the edge of the table, crossing her legs at the knees. "So, what do you do? How does one become so… inspiring?"

"Unfortunately for you, most of it is in the breeding. I'm VERY well-bred." She rolled a shoulder back as if to demonstrate, letting her foot trail against Olaf's leg.

"Yes, I can tell." She did her best to ignore him as he briefly choked on the wine he had used to hide his smirk.

Continuing unabated, Estella gestured forward with a limp wrist, "And of course, it's extremely important to be well-educated."

"Of course."

"The only reason I didn't pursue higher education was that there was so little left for them to teach me." Sighing, she leaned her weight further against him, her hand dropping to his chest. Violet forced in a steadying breath.

"That must be so hard for you."

She shrugged, unable to disguise her pleasure, "It's difficult, yes, but I don't have much choice, do I?"

"So you must be very well-read then?"

"Of course."

"Tell me, who's your favorite twenty-third century poet?"

The woman shifted, somewhat uncomfortable though still keeping her weight balanced against him, a leg shifting slowly over his knee, "Oh, I couldn't possibly choose. When you've read as much as I have, it's nearly impossible to pick."

"Oh, that's too bad. I should have loved to expand my own library. Tell me, you seem like a particularly… articulate person. Do you write at all?"

"Not often. I am a poet in my own right, of course."

"Oh yes?"

"Yes. Though I primarily write in the language of love," she leaned in, smirking, as if to disclose a secret, "if you catch my drift."

"I… Yes."

"Listen, Violet." She kept her voice a hushed stage whisper, "I'm glad you can be so mature about this."

"Mature?"

"Yes. It takes a big person to admit when they've been bested. I'm glad you can be that person. It's not easy to admit you've been given a task you're not prepared for. I'm glad we can still be friends. Would you mind fetching me another drink, then?" With a wide smile she leaned back, using a single finger to tilt Olaf's face towards her own.

Violet's face was completely and utterly blank, a stone mask of quiet. Gently, softly, she stood from the table, gripping Evette's wrist firmly.

"I am giving you a chance to take your hand off my husband."

"Now see here-"

"Take it off, or I will remove it for you." Gripping her wrist, she pulled it back, holding it tight, "I will REMOVE it. If you catch my drift."

Suddenly unsure, Evette stood up, holding out her empty palms.

With an equally cool facade, she faced him, her voice a calm monotone, "Can I speak with you? Privately?"

He only nodded, mute, as she pulled him to the kitchen by the lapel, a few of his men shaking their heads at the dazed, unfortunate Evette.


	43. Chapter 43

AN-

SO. Y'all have unanimously decided that you'd much rather have an update now and wait later. I am both unsurprised and highly amused.

Cheers

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"Listen, I-"

He didn't have time to finish his sentence before he was being yanked down by his collar, her lips crashing into his as she shoved him back against the wall.

"No, you listen." Her words were harsh, angry as she hissed them between her teeth, punctuated by the desperate pull of her fingers. "You might be absolutely insufferable, but until decided otherwise, you are my headache, and only mine. Understood?"

His insides twisted, elated, aroused, and more than a bit confused, "I thought you didn't get jealous?"

"And I thought you had fucking standards."

"Well, that's your mistake." She slid her tongue into his mouth, standing on her toes to reach. He hadn't known she had the capability for such… possessiveness, but he was adoring every bit of it. Humming contentedly, he broke away from her lips, kissing down her neck, "Come now, Dearest, don't be cross. You didn't actually think she had a chance, did you?"

"Tall, blond, and willing? Of course not. What would there be for you to torment her over?"

"You know, if you don't check your temper, I might just turn you in for the newer model after all." He nipped at the skin beneath her ear, causing a delightful groan to leak out of her.

"Don't try to get smart. I'm still mad at you."

"I'm aware."

"No apologies?"

"I'll wait until after. It makes the sex better."

"You're disgusting."

"And yet, you still want me."

"No, I already have you. Important distinction."

"Oh yes?"

"Yes." Reaching down, she pressed a delightfully warm hand to his now tented erection. Gritting his teeth, his moan hissed out as a deep sigh.

"My wonderfully disobedient wife, all innocence until she doesn't get what she wants."

Moving her hands to his face, she pressed her mouth to his, kissing him deeply, "You're a wicked man."

He smirked, "Yes, tell me again how terrible I am; it pairs well with the way you fuck me."

"I can't believe you."

"And I can't believe how incredibly badly I want you right now." He kissed her neck again, leaving a series of marks dancing down to her collarbone, "If you hadn't dragged me in here, I'd have had you on that table right there. And you'd have let me."

"No I wouldn't."

"Yes you would. Despite your insufferable teasing, you still belong to me."

"Teasing?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, did you not realize how fucking hard that little act made me?" Taking her hand, he shoved it back to his erection. "Acting like you didn't know what you were doing, leaning back, showing off just how thin the cloth of that dress is. I have half a mind to just tear it down the middle, make you sorry you ever doubted me."

Tugging him forward, she pulled his belt open, "You're such a simple man."

"And you're delicious."

Pulling the elastic band of his underwear down over his arousal, she ran her hand over him, "There's still time to call over what's-her-name, if you're so inclined. She sounds like a delightful lay."

Groaning, he nipped at the skin of her neck, his desperate hands pulling her forward, clinging to her, "I know you're trying to punish me, but let me just state for the record that if I don't get to fuck you, and specifically you, very soon, I might die."

"Are you sure? I would hate to leave you so unsatisfied with my lack of breeding." She trailed her fingers over his cock, teasing him horrifically.

"Your cruelty is noted. Now, if you don't mind-"

"Oh, but I do mind. I mind quite a lot, in fact."

"I didn't-"

"You're really incredibly stupid, do you know that? To think for half a second that she was worth all the chaos you almost brought upon yourself?"

"Goddamn, are you really going to make me apologize?"

"Yes."

"I won't."

"Alright. The choice is yours. But," his thoughts turned to fuzz as she let her hands trail down him. And then she was kneeling on the floor, her breath hot against his cock, her lip pulling between her teeth, unfairly pink and torturously close, hovering in an almost-touch.

"Okay, you're right. You win."

"Pardon?"

His fingers tangled in her hair, very much wishing she'd stop being so aggravating but also loving every minute of it, "I'm not nice. I'm a terrible man who would like very much to fuck you, specifically you, and immediately you."

"So, what you're saying is…"

"Sorry," he grumbled the word, still trying to tug her head down.

Torturously slowly, she took him into her mouth, still managing to look smug as she did so.

"You're a goddamn nightmare, you know that, right?"

"Watch it." she reprimanded him sharply, but even the rebuke was strainingly erotic, her eyes glancing up at him. He would have replied, but then his breath hissed out of him sharply, his fingers balling in her hair as her slick tongue moved beneath him, the wonderful heat of her fingers, her mouth, enticing him, erasing him.

Every movement was a rush of wordless pleasure, her certain touch unraveling him quickly. She moved her lips down, trying to compensate with her hands for what she could not reach. Her cheeks were flushed pink, though he couldn't tell if that was arousal or anger; sometimes it seemed that she couldn't tell the difference either. For all her supposed rage, she really was infuriatingly gentle though; all tongue, no teeth, as always. He thrust experimentally into her mouth, groaning at the sensation of new depth. Fumbling for breath, she pulled back, "Careful! Be patient." He wasn't sure such a feat was actually possible, what with her looking like that, on her knees before him. The only thing he wanted to do was go deeper, harder, faster. He wanted her with an urgency she wasn't allowing him. Groaning irritatedly, he loosened his grip, sighing again as her fingers moved over him, pumping his erection.

"I've paid my dues, I-" his reply turned into a gasp as her lips pulled against him again, creating such a perfect warm wetness that for a moment he forgot to breath.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"Don't stop." He balled his fingers in her hair again, pushing her back down, and she, bless her, complied.

She gauged his reaction by how talkative he felt like being, so when she finally got him to shut up, it was a good sign. His breath hissed between his teeth, his jaw tight as he leaned back against the wall, his hands tangled in her hair.

"Fuck," he whispered the word quietly, presumably to himself, his fingers flexing, unable to remain still. Obviously trying to contain himself, he bucked weakly against her, trying not to thrust quite so hard again. Straining, she slid down as far as she could manage, trying very hard not to let her teeth push against him. Making a sound that could only be described as a whine, he let his distracted hands move to the back of her head, holding her against himself. Pulling back, she released him with a popping noise she could feel him tense at, more quickly moving her hand against him, sliding over his length.

"Oh god, Violet, I'm going to-" she didn't let him finish, once more bringing her perfect mouth down over him. His fists tightened involuntarily, flexing with the strained effort as her tongue slid against him. Pulling at her, he tried to convey the immediacy of the issue he was now facing, and which she was unrelenting in furthering. His breath caught in his throat again, her smart little mouth doing things proper ladies should really not know how to do. Trying again to make the issue clear, he slid his hand down to her shoulder, trying to push her back, but when he looked down, she simply held his gaze, making him very suddenly aware of the fact that she knew exactly what she was doing. Succumbing very quickly to desire, he tugged her hair at the roots, holding her firm against him.

He managed to hold off only a bit more, but then her tongue curled over the tip of his already straining cock, and he was unspooled quicker than flash paper in a blaze. Every part of him tensed, a pool of ecstasy as she held him in her mouth, her hands hot against his skin. It wasn't until after he let go that he realized how tightly he had been holding her, his fingers sore from the effort. Slowly, she stood, taking the time to brush the dirt from her dress.

"Good talk," she smirked, readjusting herself neatly. "Now, if-"

"Oh hell no," he pulled her against himself roughly so that she braced against his chest. "If you want to be mine, then you better be ready to play the part. Do you really think I would let you leave me so unsatisfied?"

"Unsatisfied? Now, I may be wrong, but I'm fairly certain you-"

"What? You think I'm so easily undone that after all that, you can deny me the pleasure of watching you beg me to fuck you?"

"Beg may be a bit strong of a word."

"We'll see."

With a quick movement, he lifted her beneath the thighs, placing her on the countertop. Running his hands up her legs, he dug his fingers into her ass, pulling her forward.

"For someone who claims to be a gentleman, you really don't act nice."

"You don't like nice."

"No? How can you be so sure?"

"You're literally hate-fucking me in the kitchen."

"I never said I hate you. I can be angry at you without hating you."

"That's somehow worse."

"Exactly." She laced an arm behind his shoulder, trying to balance as he pressed his lips to hers, her irreverent tongue pushing against his. Pulling her underwear down, he slid his fingers against her, savoring the gasp she gave in response.

"Well well well—for all your big talk, you really do like it when I'm not nice, don't you?" She began to reply, but he kissed her again, shushing her. "Don't bother lying. Some parts of you are more honest than others." With a gentleness that irritated even him, he traced against her, never lingering in one spot long. He made it a point to move torturously close to any sort of pleasure, pulling back at the last moment right when her back began to arch and her breath hitch.

"Okay, you've made your point. We're even."

Shaking his head, he continued, feeling her shiver. She whimpered wantingly, the sound caught between their lips as he kissed her deeply, then slid a finger into her, her slick wetness perfectly inviting and wonderfully ready. Brushing against her a few times, he pressed a second finger in, beginning to move quickly. She gasped, arching her back, clutching at him wantingly.

"That's payment for your little stint with the whiskey."

She laughed quietly, only sort of able to get a breath deep enough. He couldn't help but smile, her face all radiance and amusement. But then she was digging her fingers into him again, her lip tight between her teeth as she balled his collar in her fists. Forcefully, she kissed him, a hungry desperation to her movements.

He kissed her lips, slowly moving down to her jaw. "My Violet. My pretty little wife. Such a disastrously good fuck."

"Is that all I am?"

"No, but it's the most pressing matter at hand."

She hummed a sour note, making her disappointment evident.

"Violet, if I was to list all the ways I wanted you, we'd never get around to the actual sex. God, how could you even think I wanted anyone else? Of course there's no one else."

"No one?"

"No one. How could there be, with you looking like that? You're mine," his words came out rough, broken up by the breaths punctuating his movements. He kissed her again, still pressing hard against her, building to a quick, hammering rhythm. She gasped again, the sound turning into a heavy groan. "I can't even get mad at you without your pretty lips making me want to fuck the fight out of you."

"You think that will work?"

"You certainly have a tendency to ride me like it is."

"You're disgusting."

"And madly in love with you." He kissed her neck, his hand coming up to cup her breast firmly. She moaned, her lip caught between her teeth, hands tight against his back.

"I- Can you-"

"Can I what?"

"Are you…" she trailed off, her blush burning against his skin, "you know."

"No, I don't. Enlighten me."

"Ready, are you ready? Or do you…"

"Violet, Proper Lady, are you asking me to fuck you?"

"No, I'm only asking-"

"To ride my cock."

"Don't say it like that!"

"Don't say what? How am I supposed to know what you want if you don't tell me?"

"But are you?"

"Am I what?" He couldn't hide the contented purr from his voice as he teased her. "Go ahead," he nipped at the tender skin beneath her ear, savoring the way she trembled at the sensation, "say it."

"I- Are you hard?"

He curled his fingers inside her, pressing up, causing her breath to jump, "Very." Muffling her moan against his shoulder, she tightened her grip again. "You want to be even? Ask. It's all you have to do."

She took in a stuttering breath, pausing, "I- I want to fuck you."

"Language. Also, that's not asking, but it's a good start."

"Please."

"For someone who enjoys telling me what to do, you're really making this difficult for yourself."

"I-" she sighed a heaving groan, too exhausted to fight, "Can you please fuck me? Please? I want you inside me, telling me you want me. Let me show you how badly I want you. Please."

He couldn't hide the shiver that danced down his spine at her words, breathy and rough. "That's my girl," he whispered, unable to wait any longer. He slid inside her, moaning against her open lips. Her fingers dug into him, her gasps filling his mouth.

Tightly, he gripped her ass, neither of them seeming particularly preoccupied with the thought that this was going to be anything besides fast and rough. He thrust sharply, pressing into her as much as he could. Her legs encircled his waist, holding onto him even as her hands raked down his back. The strokes were quick, heavy, the air filled with her gasps as he slammed against her, nipping the skin of her neck, savoring the sounds of her enjoying him. Bringing his hand down between her legs, he lightly rubbing at her clit as he continued to thrust. She cried out, her hands fumbling to grab at him any way she could.

"Of course I want you. Why would I ever give up the right to see such that pretty little face of yours when I fuck you? You look absolutely darling down on your knees." A groan pooled out from her as he kissed along her jaw, pulling at the skin. "Although, if you keep acting out, we may get to find out how you look bent over my knee."

"You're talking too much." Her words came out in a flurry, just barely making it past her teeth as she moaned, the sound coming from deep within her. He laughed quietly, beginning to rub against her quicker. A high-pitched moan crept out from her as her fingers tightened in his hair, pulling his head back so that she could kiss his lips.

"Can you blame me? You're so cute when you're nervous."

"Go back to telling me that you want me."

"I do," he more panted the words than said them, his tongue busy invading as much of her mouth as possible. "God, I want you. I want you so badly it hurts. You're a troublesome habit to keep, Countess." Her grip against him tightened, groans of almost-pleasure falling from between her lips, over his skin. "But you are mine. My bad habit. My Violet." Kissing her lips, he moaned, his hips still colliding against hers fervently.

"Don't make promises you can't keep."

"You are mine. Absolutely mine. There's no room for anything else."

"All yours?"

"All mine."

"Again."

"Mine." His tongue moved slick against her skin, her warm pulse thrumming beneath his touch, "You are mine, Violet. I want you, my pretty little wife. Dear and disobedient Violet. Clever little thing. All mine." Her fingers dug into him as she came, her shaking thighs pressing tight to his sides. Still, she found the wherewithal to slip her tongue between his teeth, the breath hissing out of him sharply as she arched up against him, her chest pressing to his.

Breathing heavily, she trailed her hands down his chest, shivering with the sensations of her overly-sensitive skin as he continued to thrust, nearing his own finish. Gently, she rested her head against his shoulder, pressing herself tight within his grip. He was just about to remark on the sudden niceness when he felt her lips at his neck, her teeth nipping at his skin with an unnecessary harshness. Gasping, he finished, tumbling over the edge of his climax into the infinite softness of her. Shuddering, he gripped her, pulled her to him, as if there was any space at all left to be mitigated.

Slowly, hesitantly, he broke away, looking down on her smug face as she glanced over his neck.

"Did you just fucking mark me?"

"Maybe it will help them stay in line. At the very least, it'll let them know you're not lying about sleeping with me."

"I don't think that was ever of any doubt."

"All the same," she brushed her fingers over the bruise lightly, smirking as she kissed him.

"You know I'll get you for this, right?"

"Why? We're even."

"I don't like being even, I like being on top."

"We can reevaluate your feelings on that later. For now," she skirted off the edge of the counter, taking a moment to put herself back together before plucking a bottle of wine from the cabinet, "I need you to come talk in public about how I'm a woman unparalleled."

"These are MY men; you know that right?" He grumbled as he resituated his pants.

"Of course. I would just hate to upset the status quo and have to stab someone else."

He shook his head, only mildly amused, "You're a conniving beast, do you know that?"

Threading her arm through his, she gestured towards the door, "More importantly, I'm your wife."

"You're damn right." Smirking, he lifted her, kicking open the door.


	44. Chapter 44

She wouldn't have gone if it hadn't been for the impending threat of library dues. As it was, she had had to make her way into town, carrying a stack of books, silently cursing herself for forgetting until the last minute. She would have asked him to come along again, but her ever-present husband was atypically occupied, gone for the day with a man from the local theatre. She hoped it was just another poorly-written play and not a new scheme, but sometimes it was difficult to tell the two apart. In any case, that left her alone to run her errands like an adult. In hindsight, she should have just waited, but having felt particularly brave, she had so foolishly headed out.

The library was closed when she got to it, and so she simply slid her books through the drop-slot, a bit relieved that she didn't have to go in. The relief lasted until she turned the corner and saw a man dressed surreptitiously in black walking towards her. Pivoting quickly, she began to walk in the opposite direction, her heart speeding up with her steps. Unfortunately, at that exact moment another man, dressed similarly but with a round pair of glasses, came around the other corner, walking towards her. It seemed strange to be trapped in the middle of an open road, and yet, here she was.

She had just made up her mind to scream when one of the men held up a hand, as if reading her mind, "Violet, please, come with us."

She could feel her face growing treacherously pale, "I'd much rather not at the moment, thank you." If the other man hadn't caught her arm, she'd have taken her chances stepping into the road. As it was, the man with the round glasses, the one who had spoken, opened a door at the side of the library, gesturing in. The man's grip on her arm wasn't tight nor threatening, but it was uncomfortable in the sense that it is not generally agreeable to be shoved about, particularly when the places you are being shoved into are places you did not intend on going. Normally, the idea of entering a library would be welcome under the circumstances, seeing as a librarian would be quick to come along and shush them, but what with the library being mysteriously closed, Violet did not like her odds of being quickly rescued.

The man without glasses let go of her, making a quick apology, "I don't mean to be rude." He folded his hands into his pockets, looking at her.

"Yes, well," she crossed then uncrossed her arms, feeling ill at ease, "regardless, I have nothing to say at the moment, and if you wouldn't mind-"

"I apologize, truly, for the lack of warning, but you've been scarce. I take it you're ready to go?"

Feeling more irritated than frightened now, she stared back in disbelief, "Go? Do I look ready to go anywhere?"

"Is there something you need to get first? Really, I'd recommend you leave everything you can, make it simpler-"

"No, I-" she held her hands up, shaking her head, "I'm not trying to go anywhere except back home."

"You're not-" the men exchanged confused glances, "You received our message, yes?"

"Yes."

"And you knew we were coming?"  
"Yes."

"I'm sorry," the man with no glasses spoke up, "Perhaps I'm not seeing the obstacle then."

"The obstacle is I don't want to go with you," she gestured again, more vehemently.

The men exchanged slow looks of confusion, "Can you explain why?"

"I… don't particularly want to to talk to any persons who make a habit of acousting me in this way."

"Ah, you're confused-"

"I'm not confused, I just-" she clasped her hands tightly, fearing that they would take her away despite her protests, "If you don't let me go right now, I shall scream."

"It's worse than we thought," the man with no glasses whispered just a bit too loudly to his partner, who held up a hand, quieting him.

"We're not here to force you to do anything."

"No?" she asked, warily.

"No. We simply wanted to talk. And having talked, it's evident that there is much for us to… discuss."

She didn't like the tone of his voice, the way he measured out his words. It gave the distinct and unmistakable impression that he wanted her to know that he was keeping secrets.

"So why can't we discuss things like civilized people? I swear," she fidgeted with her arms some more, unable to feel comfortable, "it would talk half the time if you just spoke face to face."

"We cannot afford the risks."

"What risks?"

"Your life, first and foremost."

"My life?" if she hadn't been so damn tired, she might have managed to be more afraid. "Who is threatening my life?"

"If your… If Olaf and his associates were to find out about your affiliations, there's no doubt-"

"Oh my god," she reflexively rolled her eyes before she could reflect on how juvenile the gesture made her appear, "he's not going to kill me."

"Can you be sure?" the tone was one obviously meant to make her feel doubt.

"Of course I'm sure!"

"There's no way to know for certain-"

"He'd have killed me by now. I would be in more trouble for buying the wrong sort of towels than I am for talking to you."

The men stiffened, "You told him?"

"Not by choice. Your note was so impossible-"

"Do you know how much danger you just put yourself, not to mention other volunteers, in?"

"I hardly think it's dramatic as all that. Sure, we got in a fight, but-"

"And you would allow us to be ambushed then?" there was no hiding the distressed anger from their faces.

"Ambush? No, I- Can't I not work with someone without working explicitly against them?"

"And how did you expect him to react? Kindly?"  
"I EXPECT to be spoken to like a rational adult! Why all this nonsense? Wouldn't it be much faster to just say what you mean and bypass this whole mess?"

The man with the round glasses went tight-lipped, staring away, "Very well then. I can see neither of us are equipped for this conversation at the moment. Perhaps further convincing is needed."

"Needed for what? I don't-" but then she was being spun around, and rather rudely walked out the door, which slammed shut behind her. Instinctively, she tried to jiggle the handle, not quite done arguing, but the door refused to budge, remaining obstinately locked despite her best efforts. Cursing, she walked on, wishing very much that they could have chosen any other establishment to make treacherous.


	45. Chapter 45

She was positively nauseous with anxiety by the time she got back. Shakily, she tried to make herself a cup of tea, accidentally burning her hand in the process. Cursing quietly, she ran it under the tap.

What had he meant, "further convincing?" She hadn't liked the tone of it, her mind running wild with possible implications. They thought themselves good though, didn't they? They wouldn't do anything too drastic. For a moment she wondered if Olaf thought himself good as well. A shudder ran down her spine, causing her stomach tol curdle.

Okay. This was going to be fine. She just needed to tell him- What? Tell him what? "Hey, I may make an alliance with these people in the immediate future, but until then can you keep them from killing anyone without killing them?" And why did she assume everything came down to murder? Maybe they didn't mean to kill anyone at all, and it was just her own villainous sensibilities that told her otherwise. Holding her cup tightly, she took a sip, and immediately felt it begin to fight its way back up. Not bothering to walk all the way to the table, she simply slid down to the floor. Okay. It would be okay. She just needed to decide- She needed to decide. Honestly, why shouldn't she go with them? They had presumably worked with her parents, knew where her siblings were, and perhaps best of all, actively opposed Olaf. All that it meant was that she had to leave. She hadn't even wanted to be here in the first place, so what was keeping her? All that was left was for her to make up her mind. She took another sip of her tea, and then immediately shot to her feet, hoping to make it to the bathroom in time.

Sitting on the cold tile floor, she groaned, feeling positively wrecked as she leaned her head against her arm, her tumultuous insides finally settling. As much as she hated the man, she couldn't help but wish very much that she had someone with her to rub her back and hold her hair. Being resilient was exhausting. She'd sooner die than let herself be seen so afraid, but the terrible thing about fear is that it made you want to be anything but alone. Groggily she made her way to her feet, wishing very much that the decision wasn't up to her. Wrapping her arms tight about her, she made her way to the sink, rinsing her face.

The sun came in from the kitchen window, the light feathering around her, her shadow falling soft upon the floor. The girl was a goddamn poem. He wondered if she knew it; it would certainly explain her ability to maneuver him so easily. Probably not-more likely, it was his own goddamn stupidity. Stepping forward, he lifted his hands over her head, bringing them to her collar.

She jumped, hitting him, making him very glad that she hadn't been holding anything sharp.

"God, you scared me."

"Wasn't my intention."

Her fingers came up to the necklace he had placed around her throat, "What's this?" She tried very unsuccessfully to look far enough down to see it.

"Just something I thought you would like," he practically purred, so sure he was to gain her favor.

Taking the necklace off, she looked at it. It was… gaudy at best. She couldn't even tell if the stones were real, they seemed so ridiculous. Clearly whoever made it had only been given the instruction to make it as expensively cheap-looking as possible. It was also impossibly heavy, dangling like a noose.

"I… don't know what to say."

Smiling, he took it from her, holding it up in the light, "You like it?"

"I… yes."

"Are you sure?"

"It's… very…" she struggled, trying to find the right words, "unique."

"You'll never guess how much I had to spend on this," he smirked, obviously pleased with himself. Oh god. If he spent all of their money on this wretched thing- "Of course," he waved his hand, "speaking of such matters is gauche. You do like it, though?"

"Why wouldn't I?" she willed her face not to pale. How much could such a thing cost?

"And you'll wear it forever?" He cocked his eyebrow, anticipating her answer.

"I mean, forever is a long time-"

"So, you're telling me," he held it up into the light again, "that you really REALLY like this?"

"It's…" she struggled, trying to find a single nice thing to say, "splendid."

"Fucking hell, Violet." He put it down on the counter, bringing his hand to his face.

"What?" She couldn't help but be concerned by his sudden deflation.

"You've gone and ruined the joke by being a good person."

"The joke?"

Taking his hand away, she could see that he was smiling bemusedly, "Only you could find a way to be polite about that thing."

"I- You didn't-"

"It's costume jewelry. I was so looking forward to your disappointment, but once again, courteous Violet had to go and ruin everything."

"I REALLY don't understand."

"Here," he held up a finger, pausing her, "Try this. Tell me you don't like the necklace."

"That'd be rude."

"Humor me."

"Fine, okay, I… don't like the necklace?"

"Then perhaps this one would be more to your liking." Still smirking, he pulled a smaller box from his pocket, snapping it open to reveal a tiny strand of pearls.

"Oh my god, that is so much better." She placed a hand on her chest, relieved.

"I'm glad to hear it; I don't have a second backup. Here," taking it from her hands, he moved to put it on her.

"Not now! I'm doing dishes."

"Then stop doing dishes," he put it on her anyway, closing the clasp behind her.

"Why is this an argument we keep having?"

"Because doing dishes is a waste of time"

"So you've said."

"And I'll keep saying it."

Turning to face him, she brought her hands up to his shoulders with a smirk, pulling herself to her toes to kiss him, "So I assumed." Reflexively, his hands circled behind her, holding her to him.

"You do like it though?"

"It's very nice."

"Just nice?" he cocked his eyebrow.

"It was a dashingly kind gesture."

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but you don't seem to be swooning."

She shrugged lightly, "I'm not a 'swooning' person."

"Oh, you absolutely are."

"Maybe sparkly things don't make me swoon, then."

"Unless they're terrifyingly convoluted and covered in grease."

"Yes, well. I very much doubt I'd swoon over a motor engine, but I've never been given one, so who knows?"

"Always so fickle," he shook his head. "Maybe next time I'll just stab my heart out and hand it to you, would you like that?"

"Not if it leaves me such a mess to clean up."

"You're cruel, Darling." He smirked as he said it, not truly offended. "At any rate," he brushed his fingers against her neckline softly, "it'll be a nice reminder to everyone that someone already has you."

"I knew you had a personal motive," she hit his arm lightly, but her only drew her closer.

"What can I say? I only ever own the very best of anything."

"You don't own me."

"Oh, but I do," he placed a too-firm kiss to her forehead, and though his tone was light, his words sat in her like molten lead.

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AN-

Sorry for the wait last week! Unfortunately, life has a habit of getting in the way, and I had three papers to finish for school. If you're not already following the tumblr, (OurLittleSecretOkay) go check it out, because I posted some deleted scenes from Kindling as apology. Thanks for your patience with me!

Cheers!


	46. Chapter 46

She hadn't told him about her encounter yet, still not entirely sure of it herself. Of course, she really ought to tell him, but why bother if she was going to leave? There was no real need for him to know, was there? In any case, she was afraid, and she wasn't entirely sure what of.

The fear was tying her in knots, sitting inside her like a stone. What she really wanted to do was just leave it all, but that seemed unnecessarily cruel, to abandon her family for her right to disappear.

She hoped her face didn't betray her; she'd been unable to keep down her breakfast, too wracked with guilt, and though the hunger was biting, it was better than nauctious terror.

The sorrowful betrayal sat all-too-familiarly within her. The first time had nearly undone her; she wondered if she could stand a second. Of course, she wasn't planning on killing him this time, only hurting him grievously. Was that any better? She needed to learn more about VFD; she had to talk to the men again. It was no use leaving one devil for another, and there was no way to justify leaving all of it behind- her family, her… No, it would be too much to have nothing. As wicked as it may be, she deserved some sort of recompense from all this.

Silently, she sat at an empty table within the library, waiting for one of the men to approach her. She had realized all too late that she had no idea how to actually contact them, and having no better method, had resorted to sitting in the quiet, only half reading the book in front of her. A woman looked over at her from time to time, pausing in her efforts to restock the shelves, but made no comments. The air was impatiently silent, holding its breath for the sound of each page turn, every noise marked and expounded upon. The woman began to whistle a soft, yet strangely familiar tune. Giving over all attempts of reading, Violet stared blankly at the page, letting the song untangle itself from memories; she knew it from somewhere, but where? She had half a mind to ask the woman what it was when the sharp memory of her mother whistling it whilst looking through their own library rattled forward. Stiffening, she couldn't resist the instantaneous urge to look over at the woman sliding a book from the shelf, glancing casually at her over her shoulder. She wasn't particularly old, but she wasn't young either. She was… an adult. However old it is that adults are when they become well and truly adults. The woman looked at her, smiling softly at her prolonged gaze. Thinking frantically, Violet tried to construe a way to breach the conversation without saying something stupid like "did you also work with my dead parents?" It might just be a coincidence. But then again, what if it wasn't?

"Very fine day outside," her voice sounded forced, pinched.

Turning to face her, the woman closed the book in her hands, smiling, "A verifiably fabulous day."

"A… vaguely… frosty damp… to the air, I mean, but still nice."

The woman smirked, amused, coming to sit at the table across from her, "Is that verified? Fog's dismal. The way it comes on little cat feet…"  
"Sits looking over harbor and city on silent haunches," taking a risk, Violet tacked on the second line to the poem that she had learned years ago in one of those anthologies of "every poem children have to know" her parents had kept around.

The woman's eyes twinkled, "And then moves on."

While being well-read is certainly not a sole attribute of virtuous people, it is a trait that is far more likely to be found in virtuous people. And so it was that Violet felt a shred at relief at this woman's ability to recite poetry, no matter how small and silly the poem might be.

The woman placed the dusty encyclopedia she had held back down onto the table, pushing it to the side, "Mind if I join you?"

"There's not much to join."

"From what I understand, you have at least a few offers," she smiled like she knew a secret, her hand coming up to cup her cheek. Her hands were rough, unmanicured, and Violet liked her just a little better for that.

"I don't- I mean, I-"

"It's alright," gently, she reached across the table, taking Violet's hand. "You've been through a lot, it's okay."

"It really isn't," she shook her head. The woman's arms were covered in faded scratches, the effects of a life lived roughly contrasting with the shining brightness of the ring on her left hand, a brilliant sapphire flanked by two smaller jewels.

"I know."

"I-" Violet's eyes flicked around the room, which suddenly felt entirely too large, "Is there somewhere else we can talk?"

The woman smiled again, her teeth perfect rows of sunbaked stones, and the knot inside her untied.

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AN-

Sorry for the late update—the good news is that I got myself a degree in the meantime

Cheers


	47. Chapter 47

"Are you sure it's alright to talk here? There are so many people."

"All the better to not be overheard." The woman leaned back, settling her sunglasses across the bridge of her nose vacantly. Holding the coffee the woman had bought her, Violet surveyed the nearby park from the bench where they had seated themselves. It was unseasonably warm, the weather shrugging off the crispness of winter into the more temperate beginnings of spring.

The strange woman had taken her coffee black, and as she sipped it, her eyes roamed lazily behind her glasses, dipping over the landscape.

"Listen, I know that you're here to whisk me away and all-"

"I'm not," the pretty woman didn't smile as she said the words, just offered them matter-of-factly.

"You're… not?"

"No. I figured you've had enough of people making decisions for you, yes?"

"Yes," Violet could feel the palpable relief on her face, the disbelief that an adult was actually going to listen to her.

"You've been surrounded by men for too long."

"That's… entirely fair."

"So. We've been here for a few minutes already and you've yet to ask me. Go on, I know you're wondering."

Violet leaned forward, almost closing the gap between them, "My siblings- Do you know them?"

"Fantastic students. Absolutely phenomenal. Your sister's as bright as the both of you, as if that was ever of any concern. Sunny's absolutely a gifted child. Of course, what else could you expect from a Baudelaire?" Violet nodded her head softly, wanting to transcribe the words on her heart. "And Klaus is a lot less trouble than I imagined," the woman smiled, looking over at her, her sunglasses making her eyes dark scrying mirrors. "I expected a lot more of the family mischief in him, but you seem to have taken most of it."

"Mischief?" she could hardly picture the word used in reference to her parents.

"Not so bad as some of us, but mischief enough." The woman sighed, looking away again. Violet could see the hidden sadness in her profile, the slight hang of her eyelashes, dark and quiet.

"And they're- they're doing well? They're good?" She wanted so very badly to hear that they were alright. Although she was certain it would vivisect her to learn that they had survived her loss, it was infinitely more important that they survived.

"How long has it been since you saw your sister?" The woman asked flatly. Violet sat, silent, suddenly feeling the entire expanse of time between them.

"It's been…"

"Could you, for example," the woman shifted, gesturing at a playground a bit off, "pick her out of a group of children?" Sitting up sharply, Violet would have jumped to her feet had the woman not caught her arm, "I didn't mean to imply anything; your sister's not here. I was only asking."

The mournful hole in her chest felt freshly peeled, as if after all this time, it still hadn't managed to heal in the slightest. She wanted to tell the woman that she was cruel, but knew that if she opened her mouth, she would cry.

"No, I didn't mean to tease you. That was my mistake. I only mean to ask how much do you think you've missed in, what, four years?"

"Five," her voice came a deep place within her chest.

"Five. Five years is a long time. If you choose not to join, it may not hurt her so badly as Klaus. That is, of course, assuming you stay away entirely."

"My letters," she looked to the woman, trying to keep the tremble from her voice, "he asked why I had stopped sending them. I hadn't."

"I know," her lips pressed together into a tight line. They sat in silence, the soft air heavy betwixt them. "You know why we had to, of course. We didn't do it to hurt you."

"I don't see how-"

"You know, Violet," the woman turned to face her, pushing her sunglasses to her forehead with a sigh, squinting, "we both want the same thing. Whether or not you claim it, nobility is in your blood. You're always going to fall on the same side as us, but that doesn't mean you're going to act on it."

"And what side is that? If you know what I want, please, tell me."

"You're so young, so much like your father. You want your family to be safe."

"Of course I want my family to be-"

"No, you're not listening. Or, you're listening but not thinking. You want to save every life you come across-you want redemption and a happy ending for everyone."

"I don't think that's necessarily-"

"And that's fine. That's its own sort of nobility. But," she looked Violet in the eyes so solemnly, she could feel the shift in Earth's gravity, "if you are going to make yourself a hospital, you need to stay away from the others, lest they get infected. You cannot be both a refuge and a quarantine."

"But we both agree that I need to protect my family-"

"No, we agreed that you want to protect your family. That's what you do, you throw yourself in the way of whatever's coming, willing to die to protect your family-"

"I don't see-"

"And family is more than blood, Violet."

For a moment, she was visibly taken aback, shocked by the insinuation. "I- My husband- Him and I are in no way, shape, or form a family."

"Then why are you having a hard time choosing?"

"I'm not."

"Then come with me."

"I can't."

"Alright. Then stay."

"I can't do that either."

"You can't do both."

Violet looked away, the tears she had almost cried hardening into anger, "What kind of organization are you, anyway? What kind of people work so hard to keep people apart?"

"Surely you have to understand we're only protecting them, and you-"

"It's a little late for that. Like you said, five years is a long time." Although she heard the condemnation in her voice, when she turned to look at the woman it was with a pleading question, not an accusation, "Why didn't you do something earlier? Before, back when I could still be saved?"

"It's never too late to come now. You-"

"No, you don't understand. How could I ever join an organization that let someone like me live the life I've led? How could I join the people who condemn me for choosing the life they condoned?"

"No one's condemning you."

"You just expect me to understand cutting off all contact with my siblings."

"Violet, I know that you're not a bad person-"

"But you don't know well enough to trust me unless I jump in, sink or swim. I get it."

They sat in silence, the chatter of the park oppressively irreverent as they both wished very much that everything would change.

"Please believe me when I say that I tried," the woman's voice was soft, edged with tears she had shed years before. "I bear you no ill will, please understand. I understand. I'm… proud of you. Your mother, she'd be proud of you too. I wish we could have met in better times."

"So do I."

"We'll be in touch."

"As always." She didn't dare look at the woman for fear she'd disappear like a specter before her eyes. Even after she stood up and walked away, leaving Violet quite alone, she remained staring steadfastly forward, only her cold coffee serving as reminder that she had been there at all.


	48. Chapter 48

Her nerves were frayed wires by the time she arrived home, electrified by the exchange. All she had wanted was silence, a moment of time to herself, maybe a glass of wine. Or a bottle. Maybe the pretty lady was right; she was a bad influence.

Those plans, however, were interrupted almost as soon as she walked in the door. She had barely passed over the threshold before he was upon her, arm slung over her shoulder as he steered her out of the kitchen.

"There you are! I thought for certain you'd run off this time."

The joking tone in his voice sat heavy in her stomach, "Obviously not. Now if you don't mind-"

He, seemingly oblivious as ever, held up a finger with a smirk, stopping her mid-sentence, "So apparently you cannot be plied with sparkly things. That, honestly, should have been expected. BUT," looping an arm tightly behind her and walking her towards the stairs, he smirked victoriously, "I've gotten it this time."

"Gotten what?"

"A gift you'll like."

"I, I don't want gifts-"

"Of course you do, all women do. I only got the wrong one last time."

"No, listen, I think you're confusing me with yourself again."

"Enough protesting. You'll like this."

"Can't it wait?"

"No." Still smirking, he led her through the upstairs hall, into the master bedroom. If he was the gift, she was going to lose her goddamn mind. Resigning herself to her fate, she sighed, absolutely exhausted as he brought her into the room, pivoting her quickly. His hand quickly snapped up from her shoulder to around her eyes, effectively blinding her.

"Alright, now I'm suspicious AND terrified."

"Are you ready to be awestruck with gratitude?"

"Sure. Why not?" She felt a pull at her wrist as he lifted her hand, directing it outwards until her wary fingertips touched something soft, delicate. Pulling his hand down from in front of her eyes, she caught a fold of purple silk in her outstretched hand.

Obviously proud of himself, he smirked, waiting for her grateful reaction, "Yes?"

"I- What is it?"

"It's a robe."

"A… robe?"

Still not reading her clear confusion, he continued to grin, sliding the edge of the fabric from her hand to better display the gaudy shade of electric purple, "I figure you take my shirts so often, you ought to have your own bit of luxury." For such a clever man, he was entirely stupid. Running her hands over the fabric, she tried to muster a smile. "Now you don't have to resort to lowly theft. You're welcome."

"Was me taking your shirts really such a big problem for you?" She hoped her voice sounded like she was only teasing. He wasn't necessarily wrong; she had gotten into the habit of using his shirts as bedclothes when she showered at night. As gaudy as the man was, there was something to be said for fine fabric against freshly clean skin.

Frowning slightly, he looked somewhat taken aback, "Of course not. You know my stance on the matter perfectly well." And she did; on the nights where she wore his clothes to bed, she didn't tend to stay in them very long. "All the same, I figured you'd want your own."

"It's… very kind. Thank you," trying her damndest, she mustered a smile. His pride properly stoked, he straightened his posture, a glint in his eye.

"And that's not all."

"No?"

"No, my Dear. Only the prequel. After puzzling over your ineffable ways for many years, I believe I have finally solved the riddle of what, exactly, is the perfect gift for so strange a woman."

"Oh really?"

"Don't act so surprised. You may be difficult, but you forget that I am, first and foremost, a lover of great renown-"

"Oh, of course."

"-and as such, have landed upon the one, the single, the platinum gift of your unconventional desires. Which is…"

"Yes?"

Shoving the door to the master bathroom, he let it open dramatically, "Solitude. Complete with a bath and the largest book I could find."

In all honesty, she was completely floored. A bath was already drawn, a single burnt down candle flickering beside a messily poured glass of wine and a book that looked suspiciously like a volume of an encyclopedia. Her heart finally fell out, bleeding and sore like the last loosed baby tooth. An unnamed sorrow permeated her ribs, sank into her skin, ruined her as her chest cracked open, tearing her once and for all.

In all her damnation, she almost didn't notice him watching her intently, waiting for her response.

"I- Yeah. It's perfect." She hoped the face she was making was something akin to smiling. Smirking anew in his elevated pride, he gestured her forward with a flourish.

"I told you."

"And, not that I'm at all ungrateful, but can I ask why the sudden interest in gifts?"

Folding his arms across his chest, he shrugged nonchalantly, "Can't a man give his wife gifts without it being an entire affair?"

"With you? Hardly."

"Even with your disbelief, my generosity still stands. You're welcome," smirking at her doubtful face, he shut the door behind himself, leaving her alone in the bathroom. With only a brief hesitation, she pulled her dress over her weary frame, slipping off shoes and socks, unraveling herself until she stood naked, the steam of the bath inviting her in.

The water was a bit too hot, and the candle was only scented by its own wax, but still, she felt horribly treacherous, taking advantage of his kindness while keeping her secrets. And yet, she had to do what she had to do; heaven knew he'd done worse. Sinking into the water, she let it rise past her chest, past her shoulders, until her nose very nearly touched the surface, and exhaled the long breath she hadn't realized she was holding. It was all so much; so very, very much.

For a brief moment, she considered drowning herself, but thinking better of it, drank the glass of wine instead.

..

...

..

AN-

I just want y'all to know. That if you haven't looked at the blog (OurLittleSecretOkay . tumblr) by now? You are MISSING OUT. We're having great times with rousing debates such as "Is this boy a bottom?" and "What's the strangest plausible AU we can come up with?" And none of that's even beginning to touch on the amazing submissions people send in! Come join. We're havjng a great time losing our minds. Cheers


	49. Chapter 49

Weary and lonesome, she was tied between the desire to go to sleep and the need to feel human touch. Coming down the stairs quietly, she found him in the parlor, reading over something. Walking up behind him, she wrapped her arms about his shoulders, leaning her weight against him.

"Enjoy yourself?"

"Very much. Thank you."

She smelled wonderfully of soap, her wet hair pressed to the side of his face. The sensation made him positively nauseous with sentiment.

"Do you need something?"

"No, just wanted to see what you were doing."

"Something very important. I'm a very busy man."

"Busy? With what? Ignoring me?"

"I would be, if you'd let me."

Lazily, she made her way over to the arm of the couch, leaning against his shoulder, her cheek pressed to his head. Gently, she rubbed her thumbs against him, glad when he distractedly hooked an arm behind her placatingly.

"Can't you do that later?" She kissed him, hoping he couldn't taste the sadness in her touch.

He sighed theatrically, "I did have time scheduled for us to fight later tonight, but I suppose I could bump that up." Smirking, he kissed her back. Bringing her arms to his shoulders, she put a knee on the seat beside him, trying to get closer. She needed to be touched right now, needed to be grounded. He sighed as her fingers brushed over his face, "Really, how do you expect me to take care of you if you won't let me get any work done?"

"Oh, sure. Sorry to interrupt your perfectly legitimate business dealings."

"Apology accepted. Now, so long as you're refusing to let me be productive," he wrapped her in his arms, pulling her down into his lap. Happily, she complied, grateful for the surety with which he held her. "My god, I leave you alone for a few minutes, and you immediately try to seduce me."

"Oh, hush."

"How am I supposed to believe you respect me if you're only after my body?"

"Can't I be near you without it being sexual?"

"Easy for you to say. How am I supposed to resist all this?" he ran his hands down her sides unnecessarily slowly.

"You're ridiculous."

Softly, he kissed her, kind and reverent. Very much wanting to not be in control for a few moments, she kissed him back more fervently, letting her nails dig into his skin as she tried her best to hold him to her lips. Meeting her eagerness almost instantly, he pushed back, his hands taunt to her skin.

Pulling away, he took a ragged breath in, "I swear, you're a goddamn genie's curse, do you know that? It's like someone took a look at my deepest fantasies and then gave them sentience."

"Oh yes? Having a wife who yells at you and burns your food is really that good?" she couldn't help but tease.

"I mean," he brought his hands up the back of her legs, pulling her towards him, "a proper and virginal little volunteer falling right into my lap? Innocent and terrible and exasperatingly good in bed? I can't tell you the amount of times I imagined that. How could I know that you'd bring all sorts of trouble to the matter?"

"Wait, are you being serious? That's your fantasy?" she couldn't help but let out a quiet embarrassed laugh, somewhat nervous despite herself.

"It was, up until I learned how incredibly much trouble you could cause. Is that really so hard to believe?"

"I mean… Yeah, it is. How- Why-"

"Are you going to be finishing any of those sentences?"

"I just didn't peg you as the fantasizing type."

"Then you don't know me at all."

"I wouldn't go so far."

"No?"

"No." She paused, parsing through the questions she wanted to ask, "I- When you- Do you-"

He hummed a note of amusement, pulling her forward and kissing softly along her neck,

"What? Are you, the noble and good Violet, really curious about the fantasies of a depraved man?" He wasn't wrong; she wanted to know. Still.

"So?" She tried not to sound offended.

"No need to be so defensive," he laughed quietly, the sound mixing with the warm breath against her skin.

"I'm not defensive."

"No?"

"I only… I owe you, is all."

"Well then. I probably would have told you anyway, but in that case…" Smirking, he moved his hand up beneath the hem of the robe, tracing her inner thigh with his nails. Pulling her forward, he kissed her lips hard, his eager tongue slipping between her teeth. She relented easily, melding into his touch, very much wanting to be wanted. Slowly, torturously slowly, his hands slid up her thighs, skirting around to grip her ass, pulling her tighter against him. She could already feel his stiffening arousal pressing between her legs as he continued to kiss her deeply. Arching into his touch, she was all but ready to take the initiative herself when he pulled back, breathing deeply with a smirk, "But so long as you are speaking of owing me, there's something I've always wanted to know; a curiosity of my own I would like to clarify first. Honesty for honesty."

"Yes?"

"Tell me; what do you, brave and virtuous Violet, think about?"

"What do I think about?"

"The moments before you sneak attack me, crawling into my bed, all innocence, as if you had only ended up there by accident, what are you thinking about? I've yet to pin it down. What exactly goes on in that pretty little head of yours that makes you such a… delight?"

"You can't be serious."

"You wanted my attention—now you have it. What are you thinking about in the moments when you're alone? The times I'm not there? Tell me, what do you think about when you're touching yourself?"

Closing her eyes, she shuddered, grasping his shoulders as his hand came up between her legs again, his light fingertips tucking beneath the waist of her undergarments, teasing her, "I… don't."

"I find that hard to believe."

"I don't think. I… It's just quiet." She could feel her face burning at her honesty, though she couldn't say why. If there was anyone she shouldn't be embarrassed talking to about this, it was him.

He hummed contemplatively, not sounding as if he quite believed her, "You don't think of me?"

"No," her response was breathy, stuck on his almost-touch.

"That's a shame," and then he was removing his hand, brushing his fingers over her stomach gently. Her eyes snapped open, as she glanced down at him, disappointed and a bit irritated.

"What-"

Reaching forward, ever so slowly he began untying the close at her waist, "I think about you more often than I care to admit."

"You do?"

"I do." The revelation that he bothered to think about her when she wasn't around shocked her. "Do you know what I fantasize about every time you make me angry?"

Part of her was afraid to ask; he was angry at her quite a lot. On the other hand…

"What?"

"I think about fucking that smart little mouth of yours."

"That… doesn't surprise me."

"No?"

"No. I was expecting something much more lethal and elaborate, actually."

"Oh, you want me to elaborate?"

"I mean…"

"It always starts the same," he slipped the fabric over her shoulders, letting it fall to the floor. Not having bothered to entirely redress after her bath, she was marginally aware of how suddenly naked she was, the cold air making her skin prick, "With you. Naked."

"Impatient to the last, I see."

He didn't respond, nipping at the skin beneath her ear as he reached behind her, undoing her brassiere. In the process, he pulled her tight against himself, the sensation of his clothes strange against her bare skin. "Now here's the fantastical part; you're compliant and sorry for whatever it was you had done."

"Unlikely."

"I know, but bear with me," leaning back, he rested his hands on her hips, letting his hungry eyes dance down her exposed frame.

"And then?"

"Patience, Darling." He ran his fingers over her thighs, smirking as she shivered. "And then," he smiled, a devilish smile that still stirred some sort of self-preservation inside her, "without me having to tell you, you get on your knees."

Carefully, she stood, situating herself between his legs. Putting her hands on his thighs, slowly, she began dragging them up. Smirking, he leaned back, letting her fingers brush over his crotch, pulling his belt open.

She was just about to pull the waistband down when she paused, looking up at him, "Should I make you angry?"

"What?" he stared for a moment, not quite understanding.

"It's your angry fantasy or something, isn't it? Do you want me to make you angry?" If he hadn't already married her, he would have carried her to a chapel right there. He would kill for this woman, would die for her, would- "Alright. Honestly, it's a good thing that your acting isn't our primary source of income. We would have starved long ago."

He was going to kill her. Tangling his fingers in her hair, he tilted her head back, "Excuse me?"

"Too far?" there was an infuriating smirk on her face that she tried unsuccessfully to suppress.

"You watch your fucking mouth. I will not tolerate such disrespect."

Humming a note of consideration, she brought her hand back up to his crotch, touching him through the cloth, "Actually, you seem to be tolerating it just fine. Quite well, really."

This wasn't working. She was making him so mad that the only thing he wanted was to get up and walk away. Evidently she read as much on his face, and pushing herself up between his legs, she kissed at his jaw lightly, "I'm only teasing. Don't be cross."

"Your 'teasing' is gearing up to get you killed."

"Let me make it up to you, then." Kissing his neck again, she slipped down between his legs, pulling down the waist of his pants.

With her first gentle touch, he brought his hand back to her head, tangling his fingers in her hair. Smoothly, she slid him into her mouth, her fingers sturdy against him before she pulled away her free hand. The wet heat of her mouth engulfed him, her slick tongue working over him softly.

"There we go, that's better," he had to grit the words through his teeth as she moved down, painfully delicate in her advances. Still holding her tight, he pulled her back just far enough to see her face, her eyes dark as she looked up at him. Petting a hand over her head, he smiled despite himself, "That's my girl," before gently guiding her back down. Her fingers fumbled against him for a moment, and he relaxed his grip, not particularly wanting to hurt her, but she stayed down, her soft lips taunt against him. He forced another deep breath in, fighting not to close his eyes as the feelings overtook him, made him surrender to her. Though he couldn't see, he felt the slight vibrations as she whimpered ever so slightly, and the thought only pushed him closer to the edge. "There you go," he muttered the words, pleased and a bit jealous at not being the one between her legs. A vague self-consciousness colored her face, and it took all of his effort not to scoop her up in his arms immediately. It turned out, quite unsurprisingly, that even his fantasy of her hadn't lived up to the real thing. He was no good at staying mad at her, not when she looked like that. Holding her face between his taunt fingers, he tried to resist the immediate and deep urge to thrust into her, to push himself into her mouth. Every time her lips pulled down against him, he only wanted more, wanted to lose himself in her. He bucked lightly despite himself, and she fumbled again, a whine building in her throat. He wanted to give her pleasure, to let her unravel safely in his grasp. Her fingers slid over him, pulling at him, making heat race down his spine in jagged electrical pulses.

His breath jumped and she felt him tense beneath her. She continued, glad to feel the sudden stiffness of his hands accompany his shallow breaths. Grasping her somewhat harshly, he pulled her back, sliding himself out of her mouth with a shuddering gasp. Needingly, he pulled at her, sliding a hand behind her shoulder, under her arm.

"Here, come here." His voice was rough but not unkind, heavy with his need. Climbing up, she let him pull her into his lap as she busied her hands across his shirt buttons.

"Did I really do that bad of a job?"

"No, I just missed you," he kissed along her throat. Wasting no time at all, he slid his fingers down between her legs. He found his place almost instantly, pulling the familiar shivering sensations from her with ease. She wrapped her arms behind his neck, her toes curling at the sudden perfection of it.

"Oh really?"

"Really." He slipped a finger inside of her, moving it in short thrusts. A whimper crept out of her throat, as her hips involuntarily rolled forward into his touch. "Besides, what kind of gentlemen would I be if I left you so undevoured?"

"Oh, shut up." She wished she had a better reply, but the juvenile retort was all she could manage at the time as he increased his steady pace.

"No, I like it. Darling and clever Violet, needs her masterful husband to get her off."

"I could leave right now, you know."

"But you won't," he pressed a second finger into her, smirking. "You're so easily flustered. I like that."

"I don't think-" she began to reply but the sound turned over to a moan as he kissed her lips, thrusting his fingers deep within her.

"Shush," he kissed her swollen lips, "if you really want to give me a treat, let me take care of you. You are in expert hands, after all." Pulling his fingers from her, he laced a hand beneath her knee, lifting her, "Here, just…" After some effort he managed to pivot her so that her back pressed to his chest, his lips busy against her neck.

"What the hell are you doing now?"

"Taking care of you." Sliding his hands up her thighs, he took hold of her right hand, intertwining his fingers betwixt hers from above. Gently, he drew her own hand over her leg, tucking it against her inner thigh.

"I don't-"

"Trust me, okay?" he pressed another kiss to her shoulder.

After waiting for her to nod a tentative affirmation, he slowly brought her hand up, feeling her stiffen as she reached the apex of her thigh. Continuing, he slid her fingers against her own wetness, unable to contain his excitement at her ready warmth. She whimpered again, almost there but not quite. Gently, he drew her hand up, pausing once he was sure she was right on it. Shivering, she arched her shoulders forward, a small gasp escaping her as he pressed her fingers down, directing her previously feathery touch to the spot.

"There we go, good girl," he murmured the words against her bare skin, moving her fingers in small circles, rubbing at her swollen clit. He could feel her thighs tense against him, her breath catching as she tried to steady herself. Gradually, he let go of her hand, starting to move away. When she paused in her efforts, he pressed her back down, kissing her shoulder, "No, don't stop," once more directing her fingertips until he felt her regain her confidence. Another groan leaked out of her, the sound going straight to his aching cock as she arched back against him, her feet curling against his sides. Drawing his hands back, he slid them over her hips, up to her chest, kneading her breasts as he kissed along her neck, behind her ear, across her shoulders. She bit her lip, trying to muffle the sound of her moan, only opening her mouth into a gasp when he nipped at the skin of her throat, "No. Nice try. I want to hear you." Her free hand reached backwards, holding the side of his neck as he continued to move over the sensitive skin, her breasts held firm in his hands. And then, she was spilling over into ecstasy, her shoulders drawing in as she came, an untethered moan leaking from between her teeth.

"That's my girl," he lay her down swiftly, taking a moment to kiss along her jaw before penetrating her smoothly. She gasped, arching up against him, still sensitive and overdrawn from her immediately previous climax. Gripping her by the hips, he thrusted into her, his stiff arousal filling her in a way fingers simply hadn't. She clutched at him, glad to hear his own groans of pleasure meeting hers. "My Violet," the words came out rough as gravel, hissed against her as his tongue slid over the hollow of her neck, his teeth nipping her ear. She groaned as he thrust into her, pressing her down beneath him as he slid his length inside her. "My Violet. Mine."

She nodded breathlessly, catching her lip between her teeth between whimpered sounds of desire, "Yes."

"You're all mine, understand?"

"Yes, I'm yours."

"My Violet, my terrible, darling wife." Even as he spoke the tender words, he thrust deep within her, although not exactly roughly. She could feel her fingers digging into his back, but he didn't seem to care, too busy with the pleasure of being inside her. She could feel his hot breath against her throat, the encompassing wetness of his mouth, the static electric buzzing every time he brushed against her breasts. Crying out, she tried to muffle her suddenly impending orgasm against his shoulder, but was quickly intercepted by his mouth, his busy tongue slipping between her teeth, swallowing her groan. A drawn-out squeak emanated from her as his hand fumbled over her breast, rubbing his thumb against the sensitive underside. "Perfect, wonderful, disastrous Violet."

"Yours?"

"Mine." He smiled at her quick inquiry, amused. For all his worry, she really wasn't much trouble to keep. When she wasn't being unnecessarily guarded, all she wanted was to be told she was his. And that? That he could arrange. "My delicious Violet." She groaned, pushing up against him.

"You talk too much," she groaned, though there was no real bite to her tone.

"If I'm such a nuisance, I could let you-"

"Don't stop."

"Wasn't planning on it." Palming her breast once more, he began to nip at her ear again. Drawing a hand down, he rubbed at her steadily, pleased when her grip about him grew tighter, her startled gasps filling the air. He continued even as she cried out, her fingers white against him, her thighs shaking, tight to his sides.

"Okay- Oh my god- Fuck, I-" her words dissolved into another moan as he kissed her fervently, her desperate fingers pulling at him.

"Language," he muttered half-heartedly. His own groans grew more ragged as he finally succumbed to the blissful heat, finishing quickly. He groaned weakly, breaking away from her mouth only long enough to breath, her dark eyes catching his as he moved back. Almost instinctively, he leaned back in to kiss her, more gently this time.

Laying down, he tried to steady his breath, moving to accommodate her as she lay against his chest, her arm draped over him, holding him tightly. Tiredly, he brought a hand to her head, gently stroking her hair back.

"It's grown out quite a bit." She only hummed a contented note in response, her face pressed to his shoulder. "Are you going to cut it again?"

She shrugged, sighing, "I don't know."

"You don't know?" he placed a soft kiss to the top of her head.

"No. Maybe I will later, should the desire overtake me."

"And what desire is that, the desire to piss me off?"

"You're not so bad angry."

"Brave words."

"No, I wouldn't do it just to piss you off. Believe it or not, not everything revolves around you."

"No? That's news to me."

"You're impossible."

"And you're mine," he kissed the top of her head again, glad.


	50. Chapter 50

The pretty woman found her again before she even had the chance to consider what she really ought to say. She saw her in the grocery store, had watched her follow her out onto the sidewalk, felt the flushed skin of her face as she desperately tried to figure out what to say.

"I take it you still haven't made up your mind?" the lady spoke cooly, but her tone wasn't unkind.

"Everyone else just seems so keen on making it up for me."

The woman smiled, her eyes hidden behind that same pair of glasses, "Why don't you come over to my hotel room? I'll make you some tea, we'll have a chat."

"Just a chat?" Violet eyed her warily.

"Snow Scout's honor," the woman crossed her heart. Violet sighed. There really wasn't much she could do until she knew more, and unless she was able to properly make up her mind… Against her better judgement, she had accepted the invitation, all the wrong sorts of nervousness colliding in her belly.

The pretty woman's hotel room was interesting, to say the least. She had evidently been here for a while, stack of papers competing with one another for space on nearly every available surface. Maps were tacked to the wall with pins and strings such as one might see in the lowest-of-budget films. Privately, Violet wondered how the woman could stand such clutter.

She seemed to notice Violet's staring, but misinterpreting it as awe, smiled, "Years of research. Perhaps a conversation for another date." Violet nodded quietly, neverminding the idea that they would inevitably meet once again. Lifting the sunglasses from her head, she switched them out for a regular pair of reading glasses. Clearing space from a chair, she gestured for Violet to sit, taking a seat opposite her on the bed. "Now, please, tell me. What can I do to ease your mind?"

"There are quite a number of things that could make this easy. All of them necessitate time travel," she shook her head softly.

"So you are still set on opposing us?"

"I never said that."

"But you will not join?"

"Listen, if you only invited me here to tell me what you think I ought to be saying, please, be my guest and get along with it."

"I only mean to figure out what exactly it is keeping you back."

"I'm not being held back, I'm only hesitant to move forward."

"Hesitant to leave? If anything, I'd think you'd be ready to leave your life behind."

"It's not that simple."

"Of course, things rarely are."

"I just… don't know that joining the people who left me is the best option available."

"There aren't that many options open."

"I just don't want to get stuck with the wrong choice. I don't' want the first choice I make in years to condemn me indefinitely."

The pretty woman nodded, leaned back, "You still distrust us."

"Wouldn't you?"

"Oh, absolutely. But you must understand the influence you're living under."

"Do you really think he is such an influence on me?"

"I think he can be persuasive when he wants to be. He is very good at twisting words, yes?"

She had to give her that; he was an expert at manipulation. "Still, I've never been under the impression that he is in the right."

"You just don't want to leave him."

"That's not the problem."

"Of course it is."

"What makes you think-"

"The world can be full of terrible things. You know this all too well. Of course you would perceive your realities as terrible."

"If I'm being accused of something-"

"Not at all. All I'm saying is that you've grown used to seeing the glass as half empty, and that's a bias all its own." They sat in silence for a moment as the pretty lady took a drink from her cup.

"That doesn't mean- I don't think he's right."

"You must think he's right about somethings. Otherwise you would have left long ago."

"He's someone I live with. That doesn't mean I have to like him."

"Is that all he is to you?"

"Yes, of course."

"Just a way to pay the bills?"

"What else-"

"How old are you, Violet?"

"Old enough that I don't need a swarm of people telling me what I ought to do."

"Fair enough. Still, you were rather young when your… situation… began."

"My situation? You mean my marriage? Which you all did nothing to stop?"

"You haven't been… intimate?"

"I-" Violet felt her face flush, "What kind of a question is that?"

The pretty lady shrugged, "I've learned not to put anything past anyone."

"Do you make a habit of looking into business that isn't yours?"

"It's in my job description," the woman smiled. "I only ask to better understand what might be holding you back."

"What makes you think something is holding me back? Why can't I have reservations for the simple fact that your organization is shady at best?"

"We both know you would willingly die for your family. There's too much of your parents in you."

"Die is not the same as betray."

"Who said anything about betraying?"

Violet didn't respond, simmering under the accusations.

The pretty lady sighed, "There is nothing wrong with what you did; I didn't invite you here to criticise you. I simply want to understand you better."

"Understand? Do you possibly think you could understand what I have been through?"

"Better than anyone else."

"You don't understand," Violet stood, meaning to go, "and more importantly, you don't care."

"I do care," the lady rose, reaching out as if to stop her.

"No, you only care so long as you can get me to join your little club. You didn't give a damn until I was ripe enough for your plucking."

"You have no idea what I went through to get here," the woman stood, slamming a hand against the table, causing a few stray papers to flutter to the ground. "God, do you think I'm here because I enjoy it? Because I have nothing better to do? No, I'm here because I need to be absolutely certain that you're happy with whatever choice you make."

"That ship sailed a long time ago," Violet tried to suppress the quivering desire to cry. "If you wanted me to be happy-"

"I know, I know, I'm too late." The woman sighed, looking out the window, and Violet could almost swear she saw tears stand near the edge of her lashes, "But I still want to make it as right as I can. I want to do what I can."

"Which is?"

"Making sure that no matter what decision you make, it's an educated one. Will you give me that indulgence, at least?"

Thinking for a silent moment, she nodded, sitting back down.

The woman sighed, retaking her place on the bed, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to become so flustered. It's just that, you…" she shrugged, gesturing with a mournful smile, "it's… you."

"I seem to have that effect." She caught her chin on her hand, resting it against the nearby table.

"So you're fond of him, yes?"

"Oh my god- You're jumping to conclusions that-"

"It's okay, really."

"Honestly, I don't see how you-"

"Violet, it's fine. Liking bad people doesn't make you a bad person."

"I do not like him."

"Then how have you survived all these years? You can't tell me you've been running on empty this long?" She didn't have a reply for that, and so stayed silent. The woman sighed again, "I'm not condemning you, okay? I only want the truth-your truth. Whatever you say stays with me."

"He told me he loves me." The words came out before she had a chance to stop them.

The woman cocked an eyebrow, "Does he?"

"No."

"Then why does he say it?"

"To make me stay."

"Why do you think he wants you to stay?"

"He says I'd make a formidable enemy."

The woman laughed, unusually amused by such information, "Typical. That sounds just like him."

"You know each other, then?"

"Only by reputation."

"You worked together?"

"My truth isn't the truth we're after."

"I'm still interested in it."

The woman sighed, "Yes, we worked together, for a very, very brief time. It was… unremarkable."

"Remarkable enough for you to come after me."

"That's all tangential," the woman shook her head. "In any case, I know him well enough to know that 'I love you's are almost entirely unprecedented. Do you have any idea what he might actually be after?"

Violet shrugged, "If I had it figured out, I wouldn't be in such a mess."

"Fair enough," the woman smiled. "So, if you're so well acquainted with his treachery, why stay?"

"You're not exactly a case for innocence."

"Very few things are."

"Am I supposed to pick the lesser of two evils, then? Or it it more of a 'the devil you know' type of situation? In any case, I'm picking between two bad outcomes."

"I'm sorry you see it that way. Although you must admit, your perception has been distorted-"

"I think you'll find I'm more clever than that." Violet set her jaw hard.

"Quite." The woman looked away, distractedly. "I should have guessed there'd be so much of your father in you. You know, Klaus has so much of your mother-"

"Don't talk about my family."

"But don't you want to see them?" The woman looked back to her, her eyes dark shades of bitter chocolate. "If nothing else, let me give you that."

"Pardon?" Violet had a hard time understanding her, confused by the speed with which she flipped between sentiments.

"If you won't let me free you, I will respect that-"

"I never said-"

"Honestly Violet, how much longer do you think your options will stay open?" her voice was without malice even as the words bore into her skin. "Time is running out. At least let me do this for you. I can't make up your mind for you, but I can at least let you explain it yourself."

"I don't understand."

"I can help you see your family, one last time, to explain what you're choosing over them."

Violet could feel her face pale, "You're being unnecessarily cruel-"

"Please, please believe me when I say I do not want this. But for the sake of your parents, I can stretch this one bit of leniency-"

"I haven't made up my mind, though-"

"Haven't you? Your indecision speaks volumes. You berate us for not saving you sooner, but the moment we give you an open gate, you refuse to leave."

"You don't understand-"

"Believe me, I do." Reaching forward, the woman took her hands. "Honest, I do. I want you safe, and happy, and protected, but most of all, I want you free, even if that means we end up on opposite sides."

"I don't-" Violet shook her head.

"It's fine. We'll be in touch." The pretty lady stood, opening the door, gesturing out. With a numb heart and leaden feet, Violet left the room, feeling positively empty.

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AN-

Sorry for the late update! My work schedule is super weird

Cheers!


	51. Chapter 51

"Your hand—what happened?"

He took her wrist lightly, flipping it over to more closely examine her bandaged palm.

"I burned it—it's fine. Don't worry about it."

He cocked his eyebrow, "Burned? Doing what?"

"Trying to put the hot water on."

"Oh, thank god; for a second I thought you were setting fires without me."

"You're not funny."

The morning sun trickled through the window, spilling soft and wary across the floor. She had hoped he wouldn't notice, but of course he was ready to over-scrutinize anything she did, particularly things she did wrong.

Pulling her hand closer, he tried to look at her fingers, "How can one person be so clumsy?"

"I'm not clumsy!"

"You're not a particularly careful scientist."

"I was only making coffee."

"If you don't get any better at it, I'm going to have to turn you in for the newer model after all."

"Is that a promise or a threat?"

"After all the trouble you've caused me, too." He clicked his tongue, "What a shame."

"Oh yes, of all the reasons for us to get divorced, harmless accidents really are at the top."

"Why so defensive?"

"I'm not. You're just not funny."

"So you've said."

"I'm fine. Your cup is already on the table."

"After everything you've gone through to get it there, it better be." Taking her face in his hands, he kissed her, enjoying the soft give of her lips beneath his. When he broke the kiss, she didn't pull away, holding onto his hands lightly.

"You know, the original intent was for me to bribe you."

"Pardon?"

"You behaving perfectly insufferably and then kissing me isn't much of a reward for me."

"Says who? Do you know how many people would kill to be in your place?"

"How many?"

"A good amount."

"Oh yes?"

"Consider yourself honored, Darling."

"I'm just saying, I believe I've been given the short end of the deal."

"Well then. If even I, handsome and talented and dashing as I am, am not prize enough for the lofty Violet, what else is there possibly left for you to be bribed with?" Catching her behind the thighs, he lifted her up, causing her to reflexively throw her arms about his shoulders in an attempt to balance. "A castle, perhaps? Ships of pearls?"

"I'm injured; be nice to me," she smiled through the reprimand.

"Not to your tastes? No, of course not. Too dull. How about an entire armory?" Not particularly liking the serious air she wore, he spun her in a quick, if sloppy, circle, his chest ringing as she clung to him tighter with an almost-laugh.

"Like you would ever let me alone with a sword."

"I will trade you coffee for kisses for swords. That way the entire process comes round, and everyone is happy," he pivoted quickly to a stop.

"Oh, yes? And what do you get out of it?"

Setting her down on the table, he smirked, "Hopeless devotion and the deadliest wife anyone has ever seen."

"Hopeless devotion seems a bit strong, don't you think? I can tolerate you at best."

"Not everything's about you, Dearest." He kissed her again, catching her cheek in his hand, feeling the weight of his stone heart within him. "With that being said, if it's really such a problem for you-"

"It's habit by now, just strange is all—don't you think so?"

He didn't think so, but chose not to say anything, simply enjoying the feeling of her in his arms, her wrists caught behind his neck.

"But are you okay? If you lose your hand over a stove-"

"Oh my god. It's genuinely not a problem. It'll be fine by tomorrow."

"I'll never forgive you if you lose a limb to your own stupidity."

"Yes, yes. Condescending threats and all that."

"Do you actually want a sword?"

"Why the hell would I want a sword?"

He shrugged, "Why wouldn't you?"

"No, I'm fine without. Though I do need a new butcher knife."

"Should I be concerned?"

"Only if you like your dinners poorly cut. Yours is all dinged up from hell knows what."

"You know, even after all this time, it's still strange to see you so domesticated."

Her eyes widened as she shoved him back, "You did NOT just refer to me as domesticated!"

"But am I wrong?"

"I swear- What do you-"

"Don't worry, my Pet," he kissed her forehead, "you're still plenty fierce."

"You are- The most insufferable-"

"Yes, yes- I'm the worst, so mean, so terrible. If it weren't for my charming good looks, you wouldn't have stayed at all."

"You're fucked up. That's what you are."

"Fair enough. But if I'm as horrible as you say, what does that tell us about you?"

She knew he was only teasing, but as he kissed her forehead, the rumbling in her gut told her he wasn't wrong. What kind of person crawls into the arms of the monster under their bed?

He seemed to sense her sudden lack of bravado, and wrapping his arms around her, he kissed the side of her face, "Poor mercilessly tenderhearted Violet. Can't even make coffee without bad men bothering her."

"You're exceedingly difficult."

"Yes, yes, I know." Pulling back, he kissed her again, the feeling lingering guiltily upon her lips. "I'll get you your new knife."

"How generous." There was a smile in her voice as she replied. She was so fickle, so inconstant. And yet, she was here, she was kissing him, she was, at least for the moment, happy.

He would weigh her pockets down with the idols of his worship until she sank into the depths of his desire, until the very thought of leaving him was unthinkable. He would draw her down in wading steps until she met his love, the strange serpent lurking in the depths of his chest, cautiously guarding abscessed canyons of longing, and need, and more light than one might imagine.

After all, though fire burned just the same in the day, wasn't it all the more brilliant in the dark?

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AN-

Hello dear heathens!

Sorry this upsdate is so late in the day—I'm working two jobs and my schedule is hell.

If you're not on the blog yet, you've missed out on a whole bunch of drabbles, prompts, and semi-canonical nonsense. As always, keep sending me your thoughts, rants, anxieties, and anything else! I love it all

Cheers!


	52. Chapter 52

All of a sudden, his troupe seemed so _human_. Had they always had histories, pasts? What brought them here? The more she thought about it, the more she got the feeling she didn't actually want to know.

It was weird, to think that they had been young too once, that this wasn't what they were born to do. Or maybe it was. Did everyone else suffer the hoops and cages she went through? How could anyone survive it?

She refilled glasses, feeling, for the first time, treacherous for doing so. She didn't even like them, had never been on their side. She hadn't even pretended to; there was no betrayal here. And yet, it felt like betrayal all the same as the men smiled at her, proffered glasses in hand. Most of the women still refused to acknowledge her, simply holding glasses in her direction. It was almost laughable, how much effort they put into their passive aggression. She'd never cared; they were insisting upon a competition she didn't feel a part of. Even back at the beginning she had never cared, had been more than happy to let them have him. And now, it was almost boring, how much power she held in a group she had no interest in. Strange how things turn out.

If she left, would one of them try to fill her space? She could see them clawing at one another, turning instantly at the chance for more power. In the end, that was also why it would never work; they understood each other too well.

But didn't they deserve it all the more for that? She had never wanted this, was never willing to fight to defend it. They didn't understand her and she didn't understand them. Maybe they wouldn't tear down the next woman, would respect her authority. Somehow she doubted it. For all their talk, the woman were infinitely more dangerous than the men. They had more to lose.

And he, clueless as ever, simply smirked as she went amongst them, his hand occasionally dusting over her waist, pressing kisses to the back of her hand. He admired her as one might admire a trophy. Of course, wouldn't VFD do the same? Everyone only wanted her for what she stood for, some strange symbol of success. What she wouldn't give to mean nothing, to simply exist for the purpose of existing. She wished nobody cared whether she lived or died. Perhaps they didn't. Perhaps that would make all of their lives all the easier.

Still, the idea of seeing her siblings again weighed upon her chest. It was an aspersion she had long given up, had long ago decided was unrealistic, unreasonable. But now? If the pretty woman could bring her to them, how could she possibly consent to leave? Once she saw them, that was it, wasn't it? There was no way she could morally justify leaving them purposefully. Even if it meant offering herself to the devil's jaw, she'd be with them. And perhaps it wasn't all that bad; after all, how much worse could it get?

She was perfectly stunning in velvet. She didn't like gifts, he knew, but it had been one half of a two part gift; a half for him and a half for her. Her half had been a pair of overalls, sturdy dark denim perfectly suited to all the sorts of nonsense she was apt to get into. And she had actually been happy; happy enough to oblige him with wearing the new dress tonight.

He likes picking out her event clothes. She had no idea how to dress her figure, was always way too concerned with her ability to crawl under things, pick at gears, get covered in grease. Not to say that she wasn't beautiful when covered in dirt; he loved the way she looked coming in from the garden, under the sink with her wrenches as carefully laid out as his knives. He loved watching her, listening to her, existing in the same space as her. She made him bored of anything that didn't involve the turn of her lips, furrow of her brow. Even as she moved among his men, refilling glasses, he couldn't help but wish he had her all to himself. That, of course, wasn't to say that he wasn't glad for their jealousy; he lived off of it, thrived based upon how badly others wanted to be him. And with the cut of her neckline, hem of her skirt, he was nothing if not enviable. Still, all he could focus on was how much longer he had to wait before she would let him kiss the incline of her neck, catch the peak of her breasts in his hands. He wanted to worship her, needed to worship her. She was all distraction and disgrace, and he was a foolish mortal pining at the altar of a goddess. Catching his eye, she smiled softly, and he tumbled headfirst into foolish, heart-quickening love. Perhaps this time it wouldn't go up in flames. Or, better yet, perhaps they would set the fires together.

Perhaps it would all work, for better or worse.

Perhaps.

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AN-

Sorry for the later-ish update! I've been super busy trying to balance work and writing. Once again, there are a whole mess of semi-canonical stories on the blog, so if you're frustrated with me, please go check that out! Even if I can't update right on time, I try to keep that active and have a pretty good turnaround time. Cheers!


	53. Chapter 53

_Two Years Prior_

Of course he imagined it. How couldn't he? It wasn't an obsession so much as a preoccupation, something to busy himself with when the need took him. It was never the same, not really, but it always ended in the same way. The way she came to him would change—she'd be quiet one day, angry the next; it depended upon his mood, really. More often than not he imagined her defeated, giving in, surrendering to her own wicked desires. He imagined the way she wouldn't fight when he pulled her to himself, how she'd press her knees together against his hand, the way she'd look when he threw her upon the bed, the couch, the floor. He particularly liked the thought of sliding his fingers up her skirt, of listening to her beg for more and hate her own screaming desire.

On days when she had been particularly exasperating, he'd picture her defeat, big guilty tears that caught on her eyelashes as she opened her legs for him, her fingers balled in the sheets as he thrust inside her. He almost always pictured her beneath him, her lithe legs wrapping about his waist, soft voice begging him to be gentle. He liked the thought of her carnal shame, her guilt as he rammed himself inside her and she enjoyed it. He imagined her disgusted gratitude, the way she'd let him pick her up and shove her into a wall, against the floor, on the table; anywhere where she could be caught beneath him.

Giving in always came easy to her in his imaginings. Sometimes, when he was feeling particularly sentimental, he'd imagine giving her her first orgasm. (He had no way of actually knowing if it would be her first, of course, but in his fantasies, he made it so.) He adored the thought—her tense, shaking legs, gasping breath. He wanted to take this last thing from her, to feel her finally unspool at his fingertips, his tongue, his lips. Very rarely did he think of kissing her, but when he did, it was of his tongue pressed behind her teeth, fingers darting over her virginal skin. He wanted her to come undone for him, to want him so badly it hurt her. He wanted her on her knees before him, her pretty little mouth on his cock. He wanted his fingers in her hair, tugging her braid, twisting her ponytail between his fingers. He wanted her to strain at her tears, to tire of fighting, to let him lay her out and ravish her the way he desired.

He pictured her arching back, soft breasts. He pictured her naked skin, the way she would slip her clothes off before him, unsure and perfectly seductive as she let them fall to the floor about her feet, shivering in her fear as she carefully held back tears. He imagined taking her warm body into his cold hands, imagined letting his tongue slide over the gentle swell of her breasts, the expanse of her ribs shuddering as she stepped into his grip. He wanted her to lay herself open like a sacrifice, to hush her harsh words and give herself over to his greater mastery.

In the dreams where she was quiet, he was always a kind lover, stroking her hair, taking his time before finally pressing himself inside her, into her tight warmth. He'd comfort her softly, make sure she was laid out upon cotton and feathers and silks. He imagined the muted gasps she'd give, how he'd shush her, kiss her neck, explore her body with his mouth. He imagined her flustered embarrassment, how she wouldn't meet his eyes while he was between her legs, how she'd look in breathless ecstasy when he slid his tongue against her, listening to the whine of her moral dissolve.

In the dreams where she came to him angry, it was all plaster and drywall and wood floors; teeth and moaning and having to try very hard not to break her. In those dreams, buttons would pop as they ripped at clothes and she'd hold him about the shoulders, cry out his name as her climax tumbled out of her unexpectedly. He pictured her neck bruised with bite marks, lips swollen and soft. He imagined the look on her face as he pressed himself entirely inside her, how he'd tower over her first, make her beg. He imagined her unkind fingers trembling as she touched his cock, how she would gasp as he ground himself against her, bite her lip and tell him to go to hell. And he would go, would gladly tumble down into the inferno if it meant that first she would let him come inside her. It would be the first time they were ever on the same side of anything.

And sometimes, on the rarest of occasions, he'd imagine something much quieter. He imagined the coldness of a winter night, the silence in their bedroom as he pretended to sleep. He thought about her slow hand, moving hesitantly over his chest, creeping below the blanket. He imagined her curious fingers, unapologetic as they moved down until her warm hand pressed to his cock, how he'd betray himself with a shaking gasp. He conjured the smell of her hair, her lips brushing against his neck, and the dark, how it would blind them both as she crawled on top of him, let her hands wander up his shirt. He thought about the welcome weight of her body against his, the way he would press his tented erection between her legs, the sound of skin and silk as she discarded her clothes, her nakedness hidden by the night. He imagined her trembling hands taking his, bringing them to her bare skin, sighing as he welcomed the invitation with a tight grip, his palms pressed to the firm swell of her erect nipples in the cold air. He imagined the curve of her hips as he brought his hands down over her, caressing her, wandering over her pale frame with a quietness the day could not afford. He imagined the slick wetness of her arousal, the sudden, dizzying warmth of her around him, her heavy breath as he penetrated her, slow and wanting. He imagined the quiet way she would moan as he moved inside her, the feeling of her knees against his ribs, the metronyn of her breath in the dark as she rode him. He imagined the crescendo of her orgasm, the shivering, blissful contradiction of so much heat in so cold a room.

And afterwards… afterwards she'd crawl beneath the covers, turn her back to him, and he'd fall asleep. The next morning, they'd say nothing, would act as if nothing had ever happened. It was how it always had to end. There was no other way.

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AN-

Hello my Heathens!

I'm going to try my damndest to get a chapter up next week, but I'm going to be traveling, so I don't know how much of a signal I'll have. Sorry in advance, but I'll be doing my best!

Cheers


	54. Chapter 54

It had all started with lonesomeness, that much was undeniable. Both on the micro and macro level, it started with lonesomeness. She was no stranger to it, had spent a grand portion of her short life feeling the unyielding sting of isolation, but on that particular night, at that particular moment, the sensation had boiled over, making the bed feel larger somehow until it seemed to encompass the entirety of oceans.

Listening to the quiet hum of his breath, she rolled closer, her hand alighting upon his chest. His arm was around her, fitting behind her shoulder, his fingers light against her back. Careful not to wake him, she pressed the pads of her fingers to his bare chest, feeling his heartbeat thrum beneath her own pulse. Startling her, he sighed, his hand rubbing softly at her shoulder. Though she wanted to ask, she got the distinct impression that she hadn't woken him, that he had already been awake. His hand brushed at her over the fabric of her bed clothes, gentle and warm and entirely more meaningful than he intended it to be. Moving closer, she rested her head on his chest, listening to the thrum of his heartbeat.

Quietly, he pressed a kiss to the top of her head. Trouble with sleeping was one of the few things they had in common, although admittedly he had been on the edge of sleep before she had pulled him back.

He was perpetually shocked at just how small she was, how delicate and warm and entirely tiny. He tightened his grip, feeling her reciprocate the gesture with a twitch of her fingers against his naked chest, warm and soft on his skin. Her hair fanned out behind her, silken in the dark, fragrant and lovely and ever intoxicating.

Burrowing against his neck, she planted a soft kiss on his warm skin, listening to his contented sigh. Pushing her luck further, desperately lonely and reluctant to let her only company fall back asleep, she began tracing indolent circles against him, trying to convince herself of his fragile reality. His hand tightened behind her reflexively, a hum building in his throat as his fingers rolled over her, steadying his grip. She kissed the scraggly edge of his jaw, rough and unshaven, his pulse quickening beneath her hand. Again she kissed him,his shaking breath pulling his muscles taunt beneath her touch. Slowly, horribly slowly, she pushed herself up, hovering her lips above his, waiting only long enough to feel his quaking breath against her mouth, and then she was kissing him, his hands coming up behind her, resting against her back. His fingers wandered up her ribs, slid over her neck, tangled into her hair before tracing down the contour of her spine. Reaching blindly, she slid her leg over him, his hips warm against her thighs.

Running his hands over her, rubbing at her lower back, he let the fabric fold within his hands, noting with a certain thrill that she was wearing one of his shirts. Tenderly, he ran his hands up beneath the hem, clutching at her bare skin. She pressed down against him, deepening the kiss, the frustrating warmth of her body flooding him with desire. Her hands moved to the sides of his jaw, keeping him in place, firmly and devoutly beneath her delicious weight. Ever curious, one of her hands wandered back down to his chest, tracing his skin with all of the kindness he didn't deserve. He felt her legs, strong and warm against his sides, and then he was tracing his hands up her spine, trying to pull her down, down, down into his wicked gravity. Ever obstinate, she leaned back, the dark obscuring her features, and then there was the pale glow of naked skin as she crossed her arms, pulling off the shirt. Unable to stop himself, he ran his hands up her hips, over her ribs, firmly holding her as if at any moment now, she would disappear. Tracing the silhouette of her figure, he brought a hand to her neck, pulling her back down to him, certain that if he were to die, it should be from drowning in her grace. Already greedy for more of the small heavens he had been afforded, he kissed her lips. She let him, opening her mouth, sighing as he cupped her breast in his open palm, his fingers closing over her, softly digging into the sensitive skin, his other arm circling the small of her back. She gasped, shivering as his lips moved down, his warm tongue firm beneath her jaw, but said nothing, only sighing as he continued, leaving a trail of kisses in his wake until he was catching her breast in his mouth. A delightful whine escaped her as he scraped against her with his teeth, still tenderly kneading the other in his hand.

She felt her hips move of their own accord, hoping for friction enough for release. Still working over her breast with his greedy tongue, he pinched at her skin, smirking as he earned a gasp, but then he was kissing her again, and that was all that mattered. His hands wandered to her hips, pulling at the backs of her thighs, and then his hand was spilling between her legs, brushing at her above the fabric. She clung to him, her fingers taunt to the sides of his face as she pushed her tongue beneath his teeth, her need only building with the now steady pressure pressing stiff against her leg.

His breath hissed out in an almost-groan as his nails dug into her. The dark covered them, hid her away from all the wickedness he brought upon her. Once again, he wished he could touch her without feeling guilty, could love her without the emotion sitting as a weight in his chest. And then she was slipping off of him, moving between his legs, tugging at his pants. As she straightened up, he heard the unmistakable sound of fabric pulling against skin, and his breath very nearly escaped him. But then, no, she was still here, her thin leg pressing to the inside of his knee as she leaned forward to kiss his lips. Gathering her in his arms, he pulled her forward, lifting the leg caught between hers, the warmth of her rich and heady against him. All he wanted was to be closer to her; to keep her here, with him, within his arms.

She wondered what he thought, if he thought at all. Perhaps it wasn't all so complicated for him. At any rate, the moment was blissfully quiet-no pretenses, no bargains. The naked skin of his body pressed up against hers, making her desire whine in the back of her throat. But no, his touch was soft, his hands brushing over her as if she were more wisp than person, tucking her hair back behind her ears. When he rolled his hips up against her, it was a joined movement, a choreographed sentiment. Taking her face into his hands, he kissed her with all of the gentleness she had never known, all warm, pulsing need. She could feel every bit of his rigid arousal against her belly, but he didn't insist, didn't do anything except kiss her, and that he did well.

He could have spent an eternity against her lips, but she pulled back first, her quick breath warm on his face. He pecked softly at her lips again, drunk off of the sublime softness of her. The quiet amplified every sound, made the room an echochamber of every stuttering breath he took in when she moved against him, perfectly warm and temptingly sturdy. Desperately he tried to think of something to say, anything that would free the burden of his heart without desecrating this moment. As if reading his thoughts, she traced her thumb against his lips, even their closeness masked by the darkness of the room, a silent, terrifying moment wherein he was sure he would make a fool of himself, and then she was slipping her leg out from between his, straddling him again.

Taking her hand in his own, he kissed her palm, her fingers, her wrist. The gesture was kind-unnecessarily gentle but still genuine. She kissed him once more, and then bracing herself against the bed, she moved down over him. The blankets balled in her fingers as she whimpered, feeling every bit of the warm pressure of him inside her. He groaned as he penetrated her, her movements reluctantly slow until his entire length was inside her. Arching her back, she let his hands glide over her hips, moving her as he thrust. She moaned quietly, feeling her guilt-wracked bliss rise with each movement.

He lay flat on his back, trying to absorb every beautiful part of her riding him, moaning softly, her thighs warm against him, her arched back and luminescent skin quickly becoming the most wonderful thing he had ever seen. And yet, every time a whimper leaked from between her teeth, it was all he could do not to surround her with his arms, proclaim his love over and over until she believed it. Sliding his hands up to her waist, he pressed himself inside her, measuring the sounds of her breaths, wanting very much for her to come undone for him. Catching her face between his hands, he pulled her down, kissing her, holding her mouth to his lips, grateful when her tongue slipped between his teeth. Lacing his hands behind her, he endeavored to hold her against himself as best he could, wanting her chilled skin to glow in the warmth of his ready protection.

Tracing over her body, he dragged a hand along her leg, letting his nails brush over her skin, and then he was tucking his thumb against her, rubbing at the crux between her legs. She felt her breath catch as her knuckles went white, the sudden static buzzing overtaking her entirely. She kissed him needingly, simultaneously wanting immediate release while hoping this wonderful almost-perfection would continue indefinitely. He kissed her lips softly, his touch firm on her feverish skin. Steadily, he thrust inside her, his joints tight with almost-release. She fought the urge to moan his name, not wanting to speak into the previously wordless silence, but as he stroked her, it became harder and harder to resist.

All he wanted was to hold her forever, to keep her safe in his arms, warm in his grasp. He wanted her to stay forever beside him, to let him bring her to pleasure, pile gifts upon gifts upon her, languishing under this crushing and insensible emotion. He wanted her to say she wanted him, to say his name, to admit any affection at all, but still she remained, a monument to his distress. Clutching at her, he thrust more sturdily inside her, overcome with the desperate bliss of her general proximity. He kissed her, kissed her irreverent lips over and over until he had kissed himself breathless, gasping for air, her name a deep rumble in his chest, a prying, clawing thing that he could not evade.

Her breath suddenly heavy with her climax, her thighs tightened against his sides. He gasped as she tensed, her forehead pressing to his neck, open lips letting her teeth skirt against his bare shoulder. He was vaguely aware of the sweat on his body, wondered if she cared or if it was cold enough that it didn't make a difference. He, for his own part, wanted every bit of her, wished he could be lucky enough to be the breath that lived upon her lips. She groaned her climax against his naked skin, and the knowledge of her pleasure rippled through him like the world's most satisfying lightening; electric and pulsing and so very, very alive. He wondered if telling her he loved her would cheapen the sentiment.

When he came, it was with hands tight against her hips, holding her down against him, the division of their bodies negligible. He was a distracted lover; all wandering fingers, a perpetually wanting man, always after what he didn't have. But in this moment he stayed, groaned his climax against the side of her face, pulling her closer, closer. Her hands were caught between their bodies against his chest, a seam of sweat the only distinction between flushed skin on skin. She wanted to be consumed in this, wanted to live forever in this moment where his fingers danced in her hair, brushed it back, caressed her lovingly. For a brief, stuttering moment, she wished he did love her, wished he was capable. She wanted to be wanted, and as he engulfed her in his embrace, she wanted him to be the one who wanted her.

Gently, she maneuvered back beside him, tucking herself beneath his arm. He continued to stroke her hair, completely undone by everything that she was. Did she know the torment she caused him? Nevermind- he'd much rather her protected comfort. Trying not to push his luck, he kissed her forehead, grateful when she leaned in, wrapping an arm about him again.

..

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AN-

Sorry for the late update! I haven't had a signal all day. Hopefully this makes up for it. As always, let me know what you're thinking/hoping/hating. I adore hearing from y'all Cheers


	55. Chapter 55

"You want to see them?"

"Of course I want to see them. God, how could you even think-"

"I'm only asking because I want you to be certain."

"I know. Sorry." She sighed, fidgeting with her hair. "It's just… I'm not. I'm not certain." The pretty lady had been right; what if she was the worst thing for them? What if she was a contaminant, contagious in her moral ineptitude?

"I don't mean to pressure you—I wish it didn't have to happen like this-"

"But…"

"But," the woman sighed, "time is limited."

"How much time do I have?"

"Less than you're taking. It shouldn't surprise you that we're all a bit shocked you didn't jump at the chance."

"You all think very highly of yourselves, don't you?"

"We see ourselves as people who are trying to do what's right."

"How are you so certain what's right?"

"I'm not." The lady took off her sunglasses, meeting Violet's eyes kindly. "Knowing what's right is rare, if not impossible. Sometimes the best we can hope for is to simply know what's wrong."

"And what if everything is wrong?"

"Not everything." The lady touched her hand lightly. "We didn't intend to hurt you-"

"I didn't know freedom would hurt so bad." Fighting the urge to pull her hand away, Violet settled for a heavy sigh and refusal to make eye contact.

"It usually does. Growing pains and all that."

"You really shouldn't be here right now." And she shouldn't. Presumably feeling bolder than she ought to, the woman had come to the house, had found Violet down in the dirt of the garden.

"I'm only trying to help."

"It's not particular helpful."

"Violet. You don't want this."

"You're right," staggeringly, she managed to look at her again, "I don't. I don't want any of this."

"Well… what do you want, then? Let's start simple. Not what are you choosing, what do you WANT?"

What did she want? She wanted to dissolve. Wanted to turn to seafoam, to be carried away, far, far away, beyond sentience. She wanted to go down the sink drain, wished to god that she could sink beneath the floorboards and sleep for thousands of years until everyone forgot her name.

"It's like you said, I want to protect my family."

"Alright. What do you mean by protect? There's all sorts of protecting."

"I…" She wanted them to live the rest of their lives never feeling like at any minute they might die, and that would be just fine by them. She didn't want them to feel expendable for a moment, a second, an instant. She wanted them to have lives, legacies, to wake up and be glad they were awake and alive and breathing and- "I want them… healthy. Happy. Thriving?"

"Well no wonder you're so worked up." The woman smoothed Violet's hair back gently, maternally, with a gesture so sweet she almost began to cry. "No one can guarantee anyone else's happiness."

"But they can prevent it."

"No, not really. Not if you're really determined to survive, damn the consequences," she smiled humorously, but Violet didn't return the gesture. "Are you worried that coming with us will mean that you won't be happy?"

"I stopped planning my future around 'happy' a long time ago. I just want to be certain that I don't squander my first chance at freedom, eradicating all future possibilities."

"You've got too much of your mother in you; so gifted at thinking yourselves in circles." Standing, she walked behind Violet, wordlessly beginning to coil her hair into a French plait. "So. If all you want is to look after your family, make sure they're happy and healthy and thriving, I can arrange that."

"And if they're not?"

The woman shrugged, "If you're really worried, you can ask them to go with you. We won't stop you."

"Really?"

"At least I won't. But I can tell you from firsthand experience, trying to get a Baudelaire to do something for their own good? Not an easy task." There was a laugh in her voice and Violet smiled despite herself, growing all the more fond of her. This would be easier if everything was clean and professional. "All the same, I wish you the best of luck, though I'm certain you won't need it." Finishing the plait, the woman picked up her sunglasses, putting them back on.

"I don't mean to rush you off, it's only-"

"Yes, yes—I have no intention of running into husband dearest, trust me. As much fun as reminiscing with ex-coworkers always is, I'll have to take a pass."

"How will I know when I'll see you next?"

"Well, presumably, I'll be there."

"No, I mean, how do I contact you?"

"You don't. Not for now. But, please, trust me," she squeezed her hands tight, "I am not leaving you behind."

Violet felt the air rush out of her all at once, not realizing how heavy the sensation had been, "Okay."

"Okay." The lady smiled, and then just as quick, she was gone.

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AN-

Oh boy, lots of things going on this week to talk about!

First and foremost, if you haven't already noticed, I've got a new book up, titled "Shift". It's a collection of prompts, drabbles, thoughts and ideas for the Here universe that have been submitted to me/interest me. It's filled with AUs and alt-timelines and all sorts of snippets that I like, but don't necessarily want to write an entire trilogy about. So go check that out.

Most of the chapters up now are from prompts submitted to the tumblr blog, but if you have something that you really really really want to read that isn't listed in any of the prompt pages, I'm also taking mini-commissions! Each commission costs the same as the average cup of coffee, and is guaranteed to not get cold nearly as fast, and to contain at least 20% less coffee grains to get stuck in your teeth. So if you've got something in particular that you want to read, or if you just like my stories and want to help me pay my bills/fuel my caffeine addiction, my Ko-fi is ourlittlesecretokay !

Cheers!


	56. Chapter 56

She almost thought he had forgotten. He hadn't said anything at any rate, though she didn't know if that was from lack of attention or genuine apathy. She had just assumed he'd moved past it, had marked the incident as a curious but ultimately harmless event. Those thoughts, however, were dashed as soon as she made her attempt to leave for the day, library books in hand.

"Where are you off to?" He frowned, crossing his arms as he leaned his weight against the couch.

Gesturing at the books, she fought to maintain a casual tone, "Just the library. I'll be back before long."

"Here, let me come with you-"

Before he could even right himself, she held her hands out, stopping him, "No, don't bother, it's fine."

"Listen, I know that you're sufficiently brave and all that, but I don't want you running into danger."

"It's not dangerous, it's the library."

"Libraries are plenty dangerous!" He took the books from her hand, setting them down.

"I'll be fine."

"You can't know that for sure. Besides, there's no harm in me coming along."

Quickly, she tried to think of a way to fight him on that without seeming guilty. Mustering all the charm she had, she brushed a hand over his lapel "You're busy-Don't worry, I can handle myself."

"All the same, I'm not going to risk it."

"Risk what? I thought you'd jump at the chance to be free of me."

"I'm not joking, Violet," taking her wrist, he pulled her hand away.

"Oh please, if they wanted to take me, one of them would have kidnapped me by now-"

"I don't appreciate how lightly you're taking this!"

"I'll be fine! Trust me."

"What does that mean?"

"It doesn't mean anything. Or rather, it means that you're paranoid as hell."

"Language!"

"Look, I'll bring my knife, will that make you happy?"

"Only if you bring me as well."

"If I run into them again-"

"Them? You told me it was only the one."

She fidgeted nervously, "I mean, he can't be the only one, right? I'm just guessing. I mean, there has to be more, right?"

"How many other people have you talked to?"

"Just the one!"

"And he made enough of an impression that you have to lie to me? Violet. I am so much better at deceit than you will ever be; don't insult me like this."

"Well…" desperately she ran through the lies she could tell, before tentatively settling on a diluted truth. "There were two others, but it was hardly worth mentioning."

"Evidently!" His brow furrowed in distressed anger.

"Nothing happened!"

"Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"I don't know, I just," she crossed her arms, looking away. "It's none of your business."

"What do you mean, it's none of my business? It's ENTIRELY my business! It's the definition of my business! It's-"

"Alright, fine! Just stop."

Taking a steadying breath, he pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers, "Okay. This is… fine. This is fine. Why- Why were you even out by yourself?"

"Oh, so now I'm a prisoner?"

"Damnit, Violet, we're on the same team here! Just- Can you calm down? Please?"

"I am calm!" she spat the words, uncrossing and recrossing her arms in visible agitation.

"What did you tell them?"

"That I wanted to go home and did not want to talk with them at that moment."

"And?"

"And… that was it."

"That's it?"

"Yes."

"You didn't tell them you'd kill them if they came back?"

"No, why would I do that?"

"Well… why wouldn't you?"

"I-" she held her hands up, brushing the words away, "Agree to disagree."

"Do you make a habit of civilly conversing with your enemies?"

"They're not my enemies."

"Aren't they?"

"No."

"Am I?"

"Have we ever had a civil conversation?"

"Be serious!"

"I don't see why you're so upset about this."

"You don't?" He raised his eyebrow incredulously, "Really?"

"I mean, it's not that big of a deal!"

"Listen, I am begging you to stop playing stupid."

"I am not playing stupid!"

"I refuse to believe for an instant that you are this much of a moron."

"I just…" her words died off. Looking away, she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "I don't know. I didn't want… I don't know."

"What happened? Did they threaten you?"

"No."

"Because, I swear, if they so much as look at you again, I will tear them limb from limb. I will-"

"They didn't threaten me, okay!"

"Even after you told them to go?"

"I didn't tell them to go; they basically kicked me out."

"That's concerning. I've never known them to give up so easily."

"Besides, I haven't seen them since. It's fine."

"They just… left?"

"Yeah."

"All of them? Gone?"

"Well, yes and no," she fidgeting uncomfortably, feeling very much like she was about to betray a dear friend whom she knew nothing about. "But then I started talking with this lady-"

"Excuse me?" his face was absolutely dumbfounded.

"No, but she's fine! She only wanted to talk-"

"Oh my god, none of them ever just want to talk! What lady? Who even- Who?"

"I don't know her name, if that's what you're asking."

"And that didn't strike you as suspicious?"

"Oh yeah, you've got some nice moral high ground there."

"Damnit Violet, we're on the same side of this! I'm just trying to keep common sense in this, since apparently, you have none!"

"She wasn't threatening me, I was perfectly safe!"

"Oh, this must be some new definition of safe I haven't heard of yet!"

"No, she's kind, and gentle, and,"

"And?"

She shrugged, "Tall? Brunette? I don't know! She bought me coffee, and we just talked!"

"Brown eyes?"

"I don't know!"

"Glasses?"

"Ye- What does it even matter? Listen, next time I'll be better about it. I-"

"Next time?"

"Yes," she looked at him blankly, "next time."

"You're planning on seeing her again?"

"I mean, things are still unsettled-"

"What's unsettled? You just need time enough to say 'go away.' Are you scared? I can do it for you."

"I don't- I don't want them to go away just yet, I need to talk to them still."

"About what? You don't need their approval."

"I never said I wouldn't go."

"So is that what you have to tell them? Because honestly-"

"No, I never told YOU."

"No, we-" his gesture faltered, his hand pausing. "We settled that."

"No, we- I, didn't."

"I… You said you wanted me."

"I did. And I meant it at the time."

"You said that you were mine."

"I meant that at the time too."

"I mean, I thought… that you believed…" A heavy silence hung between them. "I love you."

"You thought that meant I would stay?"

He didn't reply, didn't meet her eyes. Her gut twisted, an immediate desire for apology flooding her thoughts. God, how could he be so stupid?

"Oh my god-"

"Violet," he held a hand up, stopping whatever asinine thing she was about to say. However, he quickly realized he had nothing to say either, his mind still dumb with the surprise. She, for her own part, simply stood there, watching him, perhaps hoping he had something in stock to fix this entire situation, this horrible mess he'd walked them into. Damn fool, Prometheus. He felt his chest slice open, felt the quivering beating as he held his own heart in his hands, made a fool of again in the most excruciating manner possible. He felt the blood pool about his feet, leaving him empty and bitter. He thought he had been destroyed the last time around. Apparently not. He had merely grown metastatic, had left his insides vulnerable beneath a layer of calcified salt. He had lived and died so many times, he wondered what could possibly be left to stand this time. It was a strange thing, being destroyed in slices. "It's fine."

"I never said-"

"I understand." And he did. As horribly painful as it was, he understood perfectly. He had hoped she'd be smarter than he was, but evidently not.

"I'm not saying- I mean, I'm not settled-"

"Damnit, Violet," he grimaced, his face cold despite the gesture. She wished he'd turn to look at her, would give her something, anything, to break through on. "Your indecision is decision enough. If anything I could give you would be enticing enough to make you stay, you'd have chosen by now."

"It's not that, it's only-it's all still so unsure."

"What's unsure?" Sighing, he righted his posture.

She wanted to scream, to throw something. _Look at me!_ her mind wailed. If he'd only look at her, he'd understand, he'd forgive her.

"Everything! Everything's unsure!" He could hear her voice crack, and he was glad he couldn't see her face. The silly girl was probably crying. The feeling sat inside him like lead.

"No, only you. I've made my stance perfectly clear."

"You're an actor, how am I supposed to believe a word you say?" _I'm not that good of an actor_ , he thought to himself. How the fuck could he have managed such a role? "Literally everything you have ever done has had a precedent of self-interest."

"Then you're settled then."

"No! I'm not!"

"Yes you are. You just need to stop being selfish and decide what it is you really want."

What she really wanted? That was easy. She wanted freedom, and rest, and a life free from arson. She wanted to make her own choices, to be her own boss, to stop being lied to. She wanted him to admit that he was lying, to at least level the playing field so that they were both being honest. But mostly? She wanted him to actually love her, to stop saying that he loved her simply because he thought it would make her stay. The words had been sweet sugar, something nice to have if insubstantial, but now she needed them to be real, to be hearty enough to sink her teeth into.

The sudden, swelling desire should have been more surprising to her, but she was so busy being distraught that there was little room left for surprise.

"You're being horribly unfair."

"That's what bad men do, Dearest. Or were you really so unaware?"

"Stop it!"

"You want me to stop? Fine, I'll stop. Should I up and die while I'm at it? Will that make things easier for you?"

"You're being ridiculous!" Still not looking at her, his charred heart burning inside his chest, he turned and walked up the stairs. "No, you do not get to walk away from this!" He could hear her following him, but didn't stop. Her hands tugged at his jacket, trying to hold him back, "How the hell am I supposed to be able to believe you if you act like this?"

"Oh yeah, how convenient for you. Everything's so much simpler when I'm only ever a liar."

"You are a liar!"

"Prove me wrong, then!"

Turning sharply, he ripped his coat from her hands. Now that he was finally looking at her, she didn't know what to do, terrified by the depth of pain that radiated between them.

"If I'm such a liar, prove me wrong. Go ahead! Fucking prove it, make life easier for the both of us!"

This time, she let him walk away, not sure what she could possibly say to even begin to mend the gulf she felt in her chest.


	57. Chapter 57

She sat at the kitchen table, a nervous anticipation fluttering in her stomach. He was always up by now. Trying very hard to control the shaking of her hands, she took a drink from her almost-empty cup, setting it opposite the still full cup at his place.

Honestly, she hadn't known what to expect when she'd gone to bed last night. She wasn't sure if he'd kick her out or leave, but surprisingly, and perhaps more painfully, he had done nothing at all. He hadn't acknowledged her, hadn't let his hand brush against hers, hadn't even looked at her. The bed felt so large, so cold, the foot of space between them nearly infinite in depth. She hadn't fully realized how safe she'd felt sleeping tucked beneath his arm until suddenly it wasn't there. A few times she'd reached out her hesitant hand, hoping to have courage enough to touch him so that she could at least take comfort in the warmth of his back, the beat of his stubborn heart. But no, that would only have made things worse. And so she'd passed the hours in the dark, trying to find a single way to fix an infinity of troubles.

How long had she been sitting at the table? Her own cup was empty now, the one in his place cold. Her fingers still trembling, she went to the kitchen, pouring a fresh one.

He'd forgotten how cold the house was. That first night, the first time, he had teased her about catching cold, and she'd offered to fix the heating. They'd never gotten around to it.

He had been glad she wasn't crying when she'd come into the room, laying just close enough that he could hear her breathing, but not so close that he could feel her. He had wanted desperately to touch her, for her to at least give him the opportunity to forgive her, to open the chance for everything to be good once again. But no, it would never be good, never again. He felt certain his heart would suffocate.

And now? Now, like a foolish, lovelorn idiot he was still sitting in bed, his face pressed to her pillow, breathing in the scent of her hair. No, things would never be good again. He should have known they wouldn't last. They'd had a good year, but that had been all the time allotted to them. If he'd had known, he'd never have let her go, would have kept her in his arms despite the constant quibbling. He wondered if she'd find someone new once she'd left. Most likely. Again, his heart plummeted in agony. Stupid thing.

Standing, he made up his mind to leave the room. There was too much of her here. Opening the door, he almost stepped on the cup of coffee left at the threshold.

From her vantage point, she watched him step around the cup. Hoping against hope, she left it anyway, only coming to collect it hours later, once it had gotten cold.


	58. Chapter 58

Again she tugged at the skirt of her dress, horribly terrified. This was a mistake, a terrible mistake. She should go. For the hundredth time, she made up her mind to leave, but then another train pulled into the station and she froze, certain this was it. When it pulled away without consequence, she released the breath she hadn't realized she had been holding. It wasn't too late, she could still go. She was going to go. Recrossing her legs, she leaned back, watching the empty tracks. Her gut twisted within her, curdled acidic. She checked the clock again, making sure she had gotten the time right. Not wanting to be late, she had decided to come half an hour early, and nervous she'd be late for that, she had come ten minutes earlier. As a result, she had ended up sitting on this bench for nearly an hour, growing more and more nervous as the time grew closer and then passed. What if the woman had lied to her? What if it was a trick? Something inside her didn't want to believe it, wanted to think the best of this stranger. Why was she so easy to believe? He was right; she hardly knew her, had no reason to trust her. Feeling rather stupid, she began to stand, ready to go, when a cab pulled up to the station. As she watched, the pretty lady got out from the front, shaking the driver's hand. And then, plummeting her stomach down, leaden, to her feet, the back door opened, and she saw two others come out. All at once she became aware of just how alone she was, the streets going quiet beneath the thumping ring of blood in her ears. She wondered if someone could die of heartbreak. Not thinking too hard on the matter, she began to run towards them, her pulse pounding in her throat. They ran towards her too, leaving the woman behind them, until they met in the middle of the square. For a moment, they only stood, regarding each other and she wondered for a terrifying moment if she had miscalculated their affection, but then they were catching her in their arms, and despite her promise to herself, she began to cry.

Although she really was becoming too big to be lifted anymore, she picked her sister up, kissed her face, her head, breathing in the scent of her. Sunny clung to her neck, quiet, regarding her silently as smiling, Violet brushed her hair back.

"Look how big you are," holding her on her hip, she brushed a finger over Sunny's nose, delighted when she laughed.

"What happened? Where did- You scared us!" Taking her hand, Klaus hugged her again, his face furrowing into a pinched expression of distress.

"I know, I'm sorry, I-" she kissed Sunny's face again, desperate not to meet his eyes. How could she ever explain? "You're growing so big, aren't you?" She smiled at Sunny again, feeling the terrified fluttering within her stomach.

"You already said."

"You're right, I'm sorry." Putting her down, she kissed her head again.

"Violet, seriously," putting a hand on her arm, Klaus tried to direct her attention back to himself. His words were no longer angry, though the sadness was more damning than anything, "where did you go?" Struggling to find words, she just stared, all her thoughts caught in a bundle beneath her tongue.

"Alright, give your sister a moment," interjecting for the first time, the woman stepped forward, placing a hand on his shoulder. "I'm sure she has a lot to tell you, so let's let her do it in her own time. Until then, is anyone hungry?"

"Yes!" ready, Sunny took the woman's hand. "Miss Dee! Yes!"

"You want to help?" Smiling, the woman handed Sunny a basket nearly as big as her.

Struggling to get her arms around it, she looked up at Violet, beaming, "I made the chicken."

"Chicken?" Violet cocked her eyebrow, glancing up at the woman, "All by yourself?"

"Not the oven, but other than the oven. I made the rest of it."

"That's amazing! You'll have to tell me all about it." Wanting to help, she took one of the handles so that they carried it between them.

"Miss Dee said that the salt? Said there was too much salt. She said that and so then this time there was less but then there was, there needed more, and so the salt is sort of the middle." Excited, she spoke in a serious tone, trying to convey the importance of the matter.

"I'm sure it's wonderful," smiling, she looked at Klaus, trying to meet his eyes. He smiled at her stiffly, but looked away quickly, glancing around.

"It's good. Miss Dee said I did a good job, even though I already knew that."

Violet laughed, unsure how to fit the entirety of the moment into her heart, "Well then, it must be true."

"Miss Dee let me use her blender only I'm not supposed to tell anyone that." Quickly, she looked up at the pretty lady again. "Sorry."

The lady laughed, setting out a blanket on the area of park lawn they had walked to, "It's alright, Sunny."

"She also said that the only reason I can use the blender is because I am already good at cutting things and so I'm good."

"You're using knives?" Violet cocked an eyebrow, glancing at the others, alarmed.

"Not the big knives. Not the ones that are," she gestured, "the ones up top. Not those."

"I- Do you-"

"You're making your big sister nervous, Sunny. Why don't we save our sharp-things stories for later?"

"There are more stories?"

"Don't worry, it's all perfectly safe," Klaus pushed his glasses up, smiling.

"Safe?"

"You'd be surprised."

Still somewhat stiff, she sat upon the blanket, watching her baby sister carefully help unpack the basket.

"So, Miss… Dee-"

"Mrs. Denouement."

"Mrs. Denouement," she nodded. It felt odd to finally have a name to put to the woman. "You never- I haven't-"

"Don't worry about all that right now. Plenty of time later for the two of us to talk."

"Miss Dee showed me how to do this," carefully, Sunny began folding a napkin.

"That's great, Sunny." Unexpectedly, she found herself faltering, unsure where exactly she fit into her siblings' lives. "How's school? Do you like school?"

Looking up, Sunny considered the question with an almost humorous level of seriousness, "I like the parts with math. But usually it's just the parts with talking."

"You don't like those as much?"

"No, but until I finish I have to. But I'm almost done."

"Yes? What are you learning about now?"

"Mostly birds."

"Birds?" Violet glanced at Klaus, hoping for some sort of an explanation, but Sunny only nodded emphatically.

"They told us about the eagles, and they go like this," she mimed the swooping motions with her hand, supplying her own sound effects, "and they were in the mountains, but not any more."

"And what class is this, exactly?"

"Basic history," the pretty woman interrupted.

"Basic history?" Violet repeated the words slowly, trying to remember any landmark of history that involved eagles.

"The curriculum itself is vast, in the beginning. Mostly things you'd expect-literature, sciences, and the like-but as students progress through the program, they're given more opportunities to hone their focuses and chose topics interesting to them. Sunny is taking basic history at this point."

"Right. And you?" she gestured towards Klaus.

"Rhetoric and research studies," he straightened his posture as he said it, obviously proud. "I'm a bit behind on required classwork due to the complications of it all, but I'm more or less set now to move forward with my specialities."

"I was a rhetoric concentration myself," the woman, Mrs. Denouement, smiled. Violet felt an unaccountable pang of jealousy at this woman's pride in her siblings' lives.

"And concentrations, they are…"

"Specialized areas of study. Think of it as a way to better prepare our students for their future careers."

"Oh," Violet blinked, looking at Klaus, "I didn't know you were looking for jobs yet."

"It's not so much looking as preparing."

"I don't understand."

Mrs. Denouement interrupted again to explain, "Almost all of our students, having satisfactorily completed their coursework, work within the organization itself, putting their talents and training to use."

"Is the coursework transferrable to other institutions?"

"Not in a traditional sense," she frowned, "but everyone leaves the program more than adequately prepared."

Feeling the tension of the moment, Violet breathed in, hoping to avoid starting a fight, "I don't mean to offend, it's only… If the education isn't transferable, doesn't… staying… become the only option?"

"There are always other options. We never force our volunteers' hands in anything. It just so happens that after seeing the work we do, the vast majority agree to stay."

"And if they don't?"

"Don't worry about it," reaching out, Klaus touched her hand as if to comfort her. "We want to stay." Sunny nodded emphatically over a bite of sandwich, agreeing.

"I just don't see how you can be so sure. Things change."

"Of course they do. But here, we're with good people doing good things." Softly, he smiled as if to reassure her. "You'll like it."

Again, her stomach dropped, a cement weight within her. "I'm… sure you're right."

"So what about you? You never really explained what happened."

"It's…" she sighed, "a long story."

"We've got the time."

"I doubt anyone has," watching her own hands, she reclined backwards, propping her weight against her locked arm.

"Violet," the woman reached forward gently, touching her knee. "You're alright."

"I know. It's just," embarrassed, she felt her eyes begin to prick again. "It's just a lot right now."

This had been what she wanted, wasn't it? All she had wanted was to know that they were alright. And here they were before her, healthy and alive and… happy. After years of feeling the strain of reliance, she was very quickly struck by how little they needed her. In fact, they had flourished in her absence. Maybe it was her fault after all. Maybe she was the problem.

"You're fine, dear." Keeping her hand upon Violet's leg, Ms. Denouement smiled, a kind, maternal smile that absolutely eviscerated her.

"I don't mean to judge- I mean- You know I only want what's best, right?"

"Violet, it's okay. We're okay." Klaus squeezed her fingers.

Sunny, for her part, gently patted Violet's shin, "Okay."

Still sniffling, she simply nodded, trying to brush away the tears before they could fall. She was supposed to be the older sister. She was supposed to take care of them. After all the terror, all the fear, it turned out they didn't need her after all.

Klaus paused, thinking, "Things will get so much easier once you're able to come. God, I can't even imagine how terrible it must have been. We did everything, believe me! We spent the last five years trying, and now look," he smiled at her, beaming in his excitement, "it's alright! You're alright."

"Klaus, I don't… I don't think they'll… want me." Gingerly, she looked down, trying to find the kindest way to break the news of her own damnation.

"It wasn't your fault, everybody knows that."

She felt the heat of the Quagmire house, the ash still buried inside her. Some nights she couldn't sleep beneath the oppressive weight of the blankets, woke up sweating and terrified, certain she was about to choke on the smoke of her own fire. She remembered the drive back, the bile rising in her throat.

"It's more complicated than that."

"Look, it's not your fault bad things happened to you. It's none of our faults. But now," lifting her hand, he squeezed it, "now we have a chance to do something about it. We can't fix all the terrible things of the past, but we can decide what happens next."

Still crying a bit, she laughed, "Rhetoric, huh?"

"Yeah, well," he smiled, a full smile, and she realized with a pang just how much growing up he had done. Both of them. They were practically new people, climbing to new heights while she remained stagnant, unable to meet their aspirations of her.

"Anyone want some tea?" Mrs. Denouement held up a thermos.


	59. Chapter 59

All she had ever wanted was irrelevance. It had been her dream not to matter. The thought had been sweet bliss, a melancholic reprieve from the weight of sentience. But not like this. She felt the knot of her heart, a curled monkey's paw deep within her, growing metastatic under the dirge of "it's what you wanted, it's what you wanted." This wasn't what she wanted.

The thought had occurred to her, of course; it had always been a possibility. But to actually see them happy, alive and satisfied? She shouldn't have gone. It was selfish, and now she paid the price. The pretty lady, Mrs. Denouement, had been right.

Never before had the house seemed such a crypt. As she walked back in through the door, she was struck by habitual irritation in preparation for the onslaught of his questions; she had been gone for a long time, after all. Instead, she entered to the slap of silence-she wouldn't have even known he was home if not for the sound of footsteps upstairs. She shut the door again, louder, listening intently as the pacing paused before continuing as if uninterrupted.

Perhaps she was a ghost. Perhaps this was her life after death, her punishment. It would be a poetic end, seeing how all the hopes you wasted your time on actually panned out. Walking into the kitchen, she watched the dust filter through the sunlight. Hadn't she just cleaned the other day? How did these messes creep up on her so easily? Putting a pot of water on the stove, she watched the blue heat rise, felt it on her skin. Gingerly, she touched the metal, felt the shock of heat on her calloused hand. No, she wasn't dead.

He didn't come down for dinner. Again. She ought to be angry, she knew that; she hadn't done anything wrong, he ought to have expected her answer. Perhaps what hurt more was the brutal reflection it provided, showing her exactly how selfish her undoing was. All she had asked of him was honesty, and he couldn't even give her that. To be fair, though, she should have expected it. She was neither cruel enough to stay nor bloodless enough to leave. Perhaps she should become a ghost, should take the step towards bravery and let blood feuds boil themselves over. If only she hadn't seen them; they had had death enough.

Fermenting in her own thoughts, she brought the plate upstairs, figuring that if anything was going to kill him, it should be her, not simple starvation. She knocked on the door, pausing only a moment before opening it.

He was sitting on the bed, his back leaned against the headboard, a series of creased papers in his hands. He didn't acknowledge her as she walked in,remaining stuck in whatever it was he was reading. Quietly, she placed the plate down on the bedside table, standing silent beside him. He didn't look up, though she could tell he had paused in his perusals. Flexing her hand, she fought the urge to crawl into his lap, beg him to let her cry against his shoulder in exchange for anything he might ask of her.

"What are you reading?" She hated the rusty crack in her voice.

"Letters." As brief as his response was, she was glad he had responded at all. Gently, she perched upon the bed, looking over his shoulder. He smelled the same. Strange how unexpected that was. Really, her constant vanity that others might not survive her absence was quickly becoming her undoing.

"From who?"

"A very old friend."

Folding the papers into a neat pile, he stacked them carefully, precisely.

"You've never mentioned any old friends before."

"We're not friends anymore."

"Oh."

It was funny how limited the body was in pain. It recycled it, made two separate wounds bleed exactly the same. He heard his own pain in her voice, though he could hardly believe it. Gently, she stood again, moving to leave him be. He was filled with the sudden desire to take her hand, but he shoved it off. Prolonging the inevitable would bring him nothing. She had made her choice. She wasn't his, and she didn't want to be. And though it may torture him, it was fair. He had to admit, as much as he had admired her capacity for unwitting cruelty, he really disliked being on this side of the knife, especially since it seemed that rather than kill him quickly, she was ready to let him die by infection, slow and painful. Because that's what this was, after all; an infection, an accident. He'd grow out of it, given time enough. Maybe it'd be quicker this time.

She shut the door, feeling absolutely at odds. What sort of choice was it, caught between two lies? All she wanted was to be sized up, told that she was still capable of being loved, that it wasn't just something to be dangled in front of her, a promise never to be fulfilled. Quickly, she reprimanded herself for making more wishes. This wasn't about what she wanted. This was about doing the least amount of damage possible. Again, she thought of simply running away, removing herself from the equation entirely. It seemed the kindest thing to do. Although, the cruelty of not even allowing her siblings certain hatred was unkind. If she wouldn't go, the least she could do was give them something to point fingers at, a place to begin to heal. They deserved that.

But why not leave? If he didn't care, why not? There was no reason for her to feel bad. He was a liar, and worse than that, came closer to knowing her than anyone else. She shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts. He knew what she wanted, and he was manipulating that to his own end. He was a bad person.

So why did she want him to make her decision for her, to make her stay? It hadn't been particularly long since their fight, yet still she missed him terribly and unreasonably, the same way she missed heavy liquor and counting bruises. She needed to know, deserved to know, but he refused to talk to her. How the hell was she supposed to ascertain the truth if he wouldn't stop ignoring her? And even then, part of her worried that she wouldn't be bothered with the truth when the moment came, would too easily swallow any lie he fed her, so long as he held her while saying it. All she wanted was to be held. Tightening her hand over her abdomen, she closed her eyes, forcing as much air as she could into her lungs.

..

...

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AN-

Hello my heathens! Sorry if I've been more scarce lately. I'm trying to keep up with everything, but life gets heavy. In gratitude for your unending patience, have a chapter I cried while editing lol Cheers


	60. Chapter 60

He couldn't hide forever. Eventually, he had to come out and face a dinner with his men, had to pretend all was normal, that everything was happening exactly as he wanted it to. There was no sense in cancelling; he had no reason to as far as they were concerned. For a few lovely minutes he had entertained the idea of commiting a murder just to give himself an excuse to slip out this time, but no, that would still necessitate leaving his room. He didn't want to be around people; the noise, the talking, the wanting-it was all too much. He wanted silence, complete and utter quiet, no thoughts in his head. As it was, he had more thoughts than he cared for, many of which he did not care for at all. Such was the burden of genius. All the same, he managed to make it seem as if nothing was wrong. As far as his men were aware, he was the picture of bliss.

There wasn't an instant of the night wherein he let up scowling. She wondered how his face didn't hurt from it, how he could possibly stand the gesture. True, he historically never really looked happy nor relaxed, but this was something else entirely. An innate part of her wanted to tease him about it, wanted to kiss his cheek, throw his own words at him; "What's got such a pretty face so bothered?" She wanted him to laugh, to press his own glass into her hands, to let her rest against his chest, feel the heartbeat inside him. She wanted his arms around her waist, finger brushing against her face as he teased her back, making her nervous and giddy with his affections. She wanted affection, wanted to be touched, held, wanted. It was strange, feeling your own skin grow vacant. She was a ghost infiltrating her own home, walking halls she no longer belonged in. Had he invited her to stay, she could perhaps finally hang pictures, open the shutters, but now she was just tenant, taking up space in a body that would never truly be hers again.

He watched the ease with which she moved among his men, her steps practiced and rehearsed. For the first time he wondered if she hated it, if she would be glad to be rid of the task. He'd never thought to ask, had always just seen it as something she must do. What would they do once she left? The question left him unexpectedly amazed. He wasn't sure he would even knew where to begin. Someone would have to learn, would have to take her place, otherwise he was quite certain they might actually starve, having grown lazy under her care. Watching her refill glasses, he realized just how much care she took of them, how thoroughly she had infiltrated his life. The bastard had made herself indisposable. Realizing he was staring, he looked away, not wanting her to see his irresponsible pining.

Gingerly, one of the men tugged her sleeve. Surprised by the quietness of the gesture, she turned, wondering what could be awful enough to warrant discretion.

"What's happening with the boss?" He whispered, gesturing with his pinkie-less hand. She glanced up at Olaf, scanning his scowling face. So he hadn't told them. He didn't want them to know. She, for one, wasn't going to be the one to spark that conversation, so she just shook her head slowly.

"Alcohol poisoning."

The man's eyebrows shot up, "Poison? Wh-"

"No, not- He'll live. Won't be happy about it, but it'll be fine."

"Should we-"

"Believe me," she looked at him, catching a brief glance before he looked away quickly, refusing to meet her eye, "it's easier to kill a roach."

The man nodded quietly, sneaking another wary glance, but saying nothing more on the subject, at least not to her.

The rest of the night was filled with more whispers than usual, she could only assume spreading her rumor, but it was a welcome reprieve from the usual bountiful shouting. He kept his bottle by his side, refilling his own glass in what she gathered was an attempt to keep her at bay. That was fine. She wasn't sure she'd be able to resist the urge to touch him anyway.


	61. Chapter 61

He'd successfully kept entirely apart from her for almost ten hours now. Again, the night had been terrible, tempting him to pull her to his chest, to let himself know that yes, in this instant she was still here, she was still safe. He had managed to fight the urge, though it had led to a restless sleep. The days themselves had become a chess game of avoidance, of skirting through doorways, ducking down halls whenever she came near. Seeing her would only make everything worse. He was a man of many talents, but denying himself was not one of them.

As terrible as the hours had been, he'd survived them. Hopefully she'd be kind and cut him off soon, would leave without making him suffer though a goodbye. Standing in the shower, he stared at the wall, wishing very much that he could think about anything but her, or, better yet, that he could think of nothing at all. The treacherous woman was everywhere, always two steps behind him. How easy it would be to fall back into her, to give into the indulgence of these last hours. He'd considered it, had almost decided it would be better to let himself get one last fix before he was cut off for good, but she couldn't win like that, and he didn't know how he'd stop himself. Given the opportunity, she'd leave thumbprints along every bit of him that was still bruised.

As if summoned by his sorrow, he heard a knock. "Hello?" She called softly, her voice just a bit too clear. She must have opened the bathroom door. Could he escape her nowhere?

"Yes?" There was a crack in his voice from prolonged silence. He kept his eyes closed to the faucet, slicking back the hair from his forehead, feeling the warm water pour across him. She didn't call again, didn't follow up. "What do you want?" He didn't bother moving out from the shower, hoping she'd grab whatever it was she needed and leave him be. There was the sound of the curtain pulling, and when he glanced back, he could see her head poking in.

"Stop avoiding me."

Despite the fact that she had seen him naked before, the situation was still monumentally strange. A faint coloration crept over her cheeks, though he couldn't imagine why. Surely she didn't think he showered clothed.

"Do you need something?" he asked, more than a bit curt in his tone as he turned away again.

"Well-"

"If you've come here just to pester me, I laud your commitment, but can't you do it later?"

"You won't let me near you long enough."

"Perhaps you should take the hint."

"I'll be quick, then."

He startled as her hands touched his waist, her naked arms wrapping up over his chest. Surprised, he glanced over his shoulder again in time to catch the treacherous look in her eyes.

"I've been thinking…" she could feel his heart thrum faster as her hands slid over his bare chest, moving down to his abdomen slowly.

"Have you?"

"About what you said."

"I say a lot of things; you'll have to be more specific."

"About owning me."

He strained to look at her again, a smirk playing out over his face. He could feel the bad decision in progress, but was powerless to stop himself. If crumbling to defeat was the price he must pay, so be it.

"Is this some roundabout way off asking me to fuck you one last time? There's no need to reopen a concluded debate."

"I'm well aware of your… eagerness to prove yourself. And I'm just saying that it's time to drop the act."

"The act?"

"Yes. Especially seeing as your whole plan didn't work out as well as you'd hoped."

"Once again, while I laud your commitment, I really don't need you coming into my shower just to make me feel bad. Besides, I thought we already discussed this. Why would I have bothered pretending to want such trouble as you?" He barely had time to finish the sentence before his breath caught in a hiss as her lovely fingers moved down, touching him with just enough pressure to make his heart begin to race.

"That's the question."

He braced his hand against the cold shock of the tiles, using the wall for support as she pressed her soft breasts to his back, her arms spilling over his waist, hands gripping him. The water ran into his eyes, obstructing his vision.

"So what's your conspiracy then? That I fake tolerating you?"

"No and yes." Her lips pressed to his shoulder as ever so softly, her hands began to slide against him, his arousal quickly stiffening.

"Oh?" Any smart remark he could have made was erased by the buzzing, consuming sensation in his head. His breath became ragged as her pace quickened, slick with the hot water. "And why interrogate me in this manner?"

"You have a harder time lying when you're occupied." She wasn't wrong, but he hated her for it. Her breasts pressed soft against his back, filling him with dizzying fantasies of having her right there on the bathroom floor. "And also, I missed you." Knowing full well what she was doing, her index finger trailed down the underside of his swelling erection, forcing him to shove himself back into reality.

"What am I supposed to be lying about?"

"Look, I just need you to be honest; it's too late to care if it hurts me. Just admit that the 'I love you' gambit is a trick."

He was torturously tied between the need to teach her not to speak to him like that and the relatively novel desire to fuck her in a way that could only be described as making love. He wanted to worship those hands, prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that she was wrong. Her thumb came down over the tip, making him shudder. Pivoting quickly, he grabbed her shoulder, pressing her against the tile wall. She looked up at him, all defiance, her wet hair sticking to her face. The water droplets caught on her eyelashes, her mouth, her cheeks. Illogically jealous, he pressed his thumb to her lips, catching her face between his hands.

"I wasn't finished," she muttered, only somewhat amused.

"My apologies; you were saying?"

"Well, for one thing…" She touched him again, continuing as if he had never interrupted. Shuddering, he braced his arm against the wall above her, trying to take in the incredible vision of her naked form.

The streams of water hugged her contours, making small rivers over her hips, across her breasts. Gripping the small of her back, he pulled her forward, trying to get as close as possible to her. She only smirked, trailing a hand up his chest, over his shoulder, resting it finally behind his neck, unrelenting.

"Do you really want to know what I think?"

"I have a feeling you'll tell me even if I don't."

"I think you don't actually believe that you own me, but you don't want me to know that. You're trying to trick me."

"Yes?"

"If you really owned me, you wouldn't need to say you loved me."

"Oh, no?" He grit his teeth, his fingers curling into a fist as she slid her fingers against his hips, gently touching his length again, making his veins race near to bursting.

"No. You think you're so smart and clever, trying to trick me into staying by promising to love me because, what? Because I'm a girl and that's the kind of thing we like?" Her words were malicious, but her tone made it clear she wasn't actually angry, just excited to make her point and have her "I told you so" moment.

"I don't see how you can be so mean with my dick in your hand." The conversation was just irritating at this point. She had him on the edge of release, tempting him but not allowing him the relief he wanted. Stiffly, she moved closer to him, her perfect lips parted, her face as close to his as she could manage without kissing him.

"Tell me I'm wrong."

"You're wrong."

"You're a liar." Every bit of her was too much, the darting of her tongue against her teeth as she spoke, the tempting closeness of her mouth, the tremble of her body as she touched him, all wet and perfect and very much naked.

"As hot as this is, can we have this conversation another time? Or not at all?"

"Why? Am I getting too close?"

"No, just- Fuck!"

Sliding her hands up to his chest, she pushed him back, "But am I wrong?"

"Fuck, Violet, yes, you're wrong! You're a very clever girl, but you're so so SO stupid! You've got all the math right, but you've done it fucking backwards!"

"Backwards-"

"Of course I don't fucking own you! I don't think that's fucking possible! You'd kill anyone who tried!" Still shaking with the need for release, he held her tightly. "You're too stubborn to listen, too dangerous to leave, and too smart to lie to! And yet, you still manage to be so, SO incredibly fucking stupid! You're fucking combustible, that's what you are!" She stared at him, trying to make her face an unreadable mask. "You're impossible! God, I can't do ANYTHING with you! I try to avoid you, you find me, I try to scare you, you follow me, I try to ignore you, you come into the fucking shower with me! You're just so… so!" He dropped her, gesturing tensely as he tried to find the perfect word, "impossible! Utterly impossible! Completely impossible!"

"Your point being?"

"That you're aggravating, and disastrous, and sometimes I can't fucking sleep because of how badly I want you." He gripped her arms tightly, almost lifting her off her feet. "Not need, or like, or even lust, just _want_. And it drives me crazy! I want you, and I want you to be mine, and I want you to want to be mine, and I just. Damn it, Violet! Of course I don't think I own you, I'm too busy being in love with you!"

She stared at him, her eyes wide with the sudden onslaught on information. All at once it seemed even more ridiculous to be having this conversation in the shower.

"I didn't mean- I-" her eyes darted over his face. Suddenly, he became aware of just how tightly he gripped her. Softly, he released her, letting her ease her weight off her toes. She set her own hands upon his arms so that they were locked in a sort of almost-embrace, "You're serious? You're not lying?"

"You always know when I'm lying."

"And you don't- You're not trying to get anything from me?"

"What the hell is left for me to get? What can I gain from this except impossible embarrassment?"

"And you want me?"

"I do. Badly."

"How badly?"

"Badly enough to kill."

"Okay, well, perhaps don't do that."

"I won't, if you don't want."

"I don't."

"Then I won't."

"Okay, thank you." Taking a moment she tried to compose her thoughts. "You mean it? That you love me?"

"I love you."

"You do?"

"I do."

"And you want me?"

"God, Violet, how many times are we going to go through this?"

"Until I understand it."

"I don't have time for that." Leaning in, he kissed her for the first time in an eternity. She stayed stiff for a moment, trying to read the moment like radio frequencies. Softly he pulled back, a thin sheen of water droplets between them, dancing over their faces, and then she was closing the gap, pulling him towards her again as he laced his arms behind her so that she was pressed to his chest, the warm water still pouring over them, a few droplets catching betwixt their lips, baptizing the moment sacred.

"I want you." Pressing her back against the wall, he kissed her lips fervently. "I want you fighting with me, making poor decisions, letting me fix your messes." He slid his hands down her sides, kissing her neck, "I want your ridiculous mountains of books and the way you look sitting outside in the dirt." She groaned as his fingers slid to the backs of her thighs. Lowering himself, he kissed down her chest, letting his teeth graze the skin betwixt her breasts, "I want your sarcastic comments and thousands upon thousands of ways of pissing me off."

"Thousands?"

"Thousands. And I want every single one." He kissed down her stomach, dropping to his knees, "I want every single one of your mornings, every incredibly late night. I want your days to end in my arms and mine to end between your legs." Softly, he lifted her thigh over his shoulder. Her fingers covered her mouth, holding back an airy gasp. He kissed down her thigh, his words dotting his movements, "I want to hear every single improper thing you ever say, every snide comment, every sideways remark. I want you, even when having you hurts."

Her hand clasped fast over her mouth, trying to keep back the moan that unspooled from her insides as his lips moved against her, gentle and commanding. Her other hand fluttered to his head, trying to keep her balance as her leg threatened to give out. His fingers dug into her thigh as his tongue slid against her, and while she regretted the loss of all the pretty things he had to say, this was much more eloquent when it came to intent. She whimpered, biting her lip, struggling against the perfect heat which was quickly radiating and consuming her. He wanted her. He wanted her. His words kept circling through her spinning head; he didn't just need her, he wanted her. His tongue made a convincing argument too, pulling the breath from her chest in a particularly nice way. She cried out, all of it overwhelming and blissful and entirely too much. Her grip tightened involuntarily as he moved against her in smooth strokes, stopping and slowing whenever he managed to wrench a moan loose. Arching her back against the hard wall, she tried very hard not to topple over on top of him, but her knees were becoming more unreliable by the moment.

"I need you, right now," she patted the side of his face, trying to get his attention. Her words sounded desperate, almost anxious.

"Yes?"

"Yes." Not waiting for him to come to her, she slid down to the shower floor, kissing him earnestly. Wrapping his arms about her waist, he pulled her forward into his open lap. The hot water ran over them, spotting against his naked skin, still overly sensitive with arousal. Her fingers pressed to his neck, her bare chest enticingly soft against his.

"You need me?" tucking his hand between her legs, he grazed over the sensitive skin with the tips of his fingers. Gasping, she clung to him, her lip caught hard between her teeth in a look of concentration.

"I want you," she had to shove the words out, get them into the air before her tripping tongue could stop her. He kissed her neck, her jaw, her lips, the warm water pooling around and between them, clinging to the small space betwixt their lips. "I want you," she said it again, her mouth pressed to his, hoping to give the words more power.

"Violet. My Violet," he spoke the words with such incredibly tenderness, she could taste the smile between his teeth.

"Yours."

"Just mine?"

"Foremost my own, but after that, yes."

"I can live with that."

Smoothly, his fingers hooked inside her, drawing forth a wanting gasp. She kissed him again, his stiff erection pressed to her stomach as she sought to get closer still. Steadily, she touched his cock, again sliding her hand down it. He groaned against her lips, gravelly and wanting.

"I don't suppose you'll ever learn to be patient, will you?"

"I've been trained out of it."

"At least give me a moment, then."

"A moment for wh-" her words were cut off as he thrust his fingers back inside her, rubbing at her perfectly."

"I've told you before, you are in very capable hands. Why not just let me do my job and adore you?"

Arching back against the wall, she couldn't respond, her hand flying over her mouth as he sped up, his long fingers only too wonderful, tempered to her body through experience.

His hand gripped her wrist, pulling it away from her face, "I want all of you, Violet, including your pleasure. After all this, you can't deny me that."

She pressed her hips forward into his touch with a whine, elated but not satisfied. She could feel her wet hair clinging to the sides of her face, the pounding wetness only a reminder of all the ways she was still left empty.

He kissed her neck, rivers of water running over his mouth, making the warm skin slick to the touch. His free hand dug into her upper thigh, wandered to her lower back, raked down her shoulder; all he wanted was to draw her nearer, to let her have her own bit of pleasure before taking his own. He pressed her back until her spine was stiff against the wall, and still she didn't complain, simply clung to him with the same determination of desire. Her fingers dug into his back, her parted lips letting out soft cries of building pressure, the sound resonating in the small space. Her breath grew heavy in his ear, her voice reaching a lovely pitch as she moaned, the sound sharp and desperate. Clinging to him, she shuddered, her knees pressed tight to his ribs.

"Olaf, please."

His name sounded like a prayer coming from her lips, her graceful tongue too good to be debased thus. Or perhaps she elevated him, redeemed him by the simple mistake of touching him.

Sitting back, he pulled her up into his lap, holding her by the waist. Water from the showerhead ran down his face, momentarily blinding him, and then she was on top of him, her thighs shaking as she lowered down onto his throbbing erection, moving slower than was strictly necessary. Her lip caught again between her teeth, a slight whine escaping her as he filled her, relieved and drunk off the sensation of her warmth and depth. Still holding her tightly by the hips, he lifted her slightly, raising his own hips as he lowered her again. Gasping, she wrapped her arms behind his neck, moaning as he began to direct their rhythm.

He groaned, overwhelmed by the delicious nature of it all. Small streams of water ran over her, hugging the contours of her pert breasts, the bone of her hip. He kissed her chest again, palming her breast, pressing up firmly. Again, he pressed himself inside her, feeling the perfect tight wetness of her. Had there been a heart left in him, he was sure it would have burst. Her arms still laced behind him, she pressed herself within his embrace, her lips soft against the side of his neck as she whimpered soft sounds of pleasure. He bucked against her in deep, careful strokes, wanting to make the moment last as long as possible. He could feel her lips on his neck, the quivering tightness of her thighs against him, the indescribable perfection of her breasts, slick with the water, pressed to his bare skin. Kissing the side of her face, he whispered words of encouragement, hoping to stay like this forever.

His voice was hushed in her ear, sending electrostatic down her spine, "My Violet. Wonderful Violet. Beautiful Violet. Messy Violet. God, I love you, I do, I love you." The softness of his speech coupled with the rigid hardness of his arousal between her legs, filling her, stroking her, sent her tumbling over the edge into a more whole experience of desire. She clung to his shoulders, feeling the lithe musculature of his arms holding her firm, still moving her up and down as he continued to thrust inside her. She never wanted him to stop, never wanted to be apart from this, this moment, this sacred joinment. His fingers dug into the tops of her thighs, the skin of her waist. Occasionally his hands would slide down to grasp her backside, rolling her forward, a delighted smirk playing over his face as she cried out at the perfect pressure.

"Fuck, I- Olaf-"

He kissed her, cutting off her words, "It's okay, Violet. Come for me."

She wasn't certain she had much choice in the matter; as he measured his strokes, penetrating her in deep, smooth motions, she cried out, her fingers balling into fists, his pleased expression briefly flashing before her eyes before he was kissing her throat again.

"You're so beautiful," his teeth brushed against her skin. "Beautiful Violet. My Violet. Mine."

She clung to him, gasping as he kissed down her chest, his warm tongue moving over her breasts. Still thrusting inside her, he groaned, his teeth brushing against her pert nipple. She squeaked, prompting him to catch it in his mouth, sliding his tongue against her before releasing it with a devilish wet sound.

Groaning, he tightened his embrace, panting against her wet skin as he finished, the sound of the water a monotonous backdrop to the buzzing in his head.

"You want me?"

He laughed, amused by the embarrassing bluntness of her breathy words.

"Yes, I want you. Of course I want you."

Gently, she stroked her hands over his face, cradled his cheeks, smoothed back his hair, "And you'll still want me a year from now?"

"Of course."

"Ten years?"

"Darling, I'll want you for twice as long as you let me have you."

"Are you certain?"

"Absolutely."

"Then I'm yours, twice over."

He kissed her smiling lips, feeling a shock of terror at such happiness. When had he ever been allowed such happiness before?

"On one condition," she leaned back, holding a finger up to pause him. Of course there was a condition. The happiness had been nice while it lasted. "You leave me to my own decisions. ."

He blinked, watching her face, waiting for the end of her sentence.

"That's- that it? That's your condition?"

"Yes, and I'm firm to it."

"You're such a silly thing, you know that, right?" Leaning forward, he kissed her again. "What type of man do you take me for? Why, the very thought of not spending half the day fighting with you over ethics bores me to death."

"And you will not interfere with my affairs once I have them settled. You will not touch them, understand?"

"Absolutely." He didn't even know what she meant by that last one, and he didn't care. She could have whatever she wanted, so long as she stayed.

"I won't ever make your life easy; you know that, right?"

"I never wanted an easy life. Though I have a condition of my own."

She cocked her eyebrow, looking at him warily, "Yes?"

Standing, only pausing long enough to turn off the water, he lifted her, "That you clear your schedule for the rest of the day. I haven't seen you in ages, and I well intend to make up for lost time."

"You're a ridiculous man," she smiled as she said the words, kissing him as he carried her out.


	62. Chapter 62

She hoped Mrs. Denouement hadn't checked out yet; it seemed important that she get the chance to talk to her in person. Honestly, she would much rather just leave a letter and run, but the least she could do was give her a last chance to berate her.

The motel itself wasn't particularly nice, so getting in wasn't an issue; the man at the desk didn't even look up. Much more difficult was the job of trying to find the right door. Luckily there was only one floor, but she still had to walk slow, trying to recount which potted plants and watercolor paintings of the sea she has seen before.

Right when she was about to knock on a door she was fairly certain was the right one, it swung open, revealing a not particularly tall man looking down at her.

"Sorry, I-" beginning to apologize, she stopped, frowning, "I know you."

"Quite," opening the door, he beckoned her in. Hesitant, she entered, unsurprised to see his partner sitting at the desk, going through Mrs. Denouement's papers. "For a while, we were wondering if you'd gotten lost."

"How'd you know I was coming?"

"The doorman called."

"Quite." Looking around, it was easy to see the mess had only grown. "Where is Mrs. Denouement?"

"Out."

"When will she be back?"

"Why do you ask?"

"I need to speak with her."

"About what?"

"That's my business."

"Anything you need to tell our colleague, you can tell us.

"I don't want to speak with you," the fabric of her dress balled between her fingers. "Let me speak to Mrs. Denouement."

"She isn't here just now," examining the map of strings and photos on the wall, the man with the round glasses adjusted one of the connections. "We'll have to do until then."

"Do you know when she'll be back?"

"That's privileged information. Now, what do you need to tell her?"

"That's privileged information," Violet grit her teeth.

"She was unsuccessful then?"

Both of the men stared at her as she paused, taken aback. "Pardon?"

"You won't come."

"I didn't say- Where-"

"You're really choosing to stay?" The man with round glasses gestured towards her in disbelief. "My god."

"What I choose is none of your business!"

"It is the definition of our business," the man without glasses uncrossed his arms, resting his hands on his hips. "What did he promise you?"

"I didn't! Or, he didn't- You don't-"

"How could you possibly consent to a life of villainy?"

"I'm not!" she held her hands out, desperate to have them understand. "I'm consenting to a life with a garden I've worked very hard on, a workroom I've already set up, and a library card in my name. There is nothing villainous about not wanting to bury myself in your organization!"

"You're settling for mediocrity then."

"Worse," the other man interrupted, "for ignobility."

"It's your legacy, Violet, your heritage."

Taking a shaking breath in, she sat down in the only empty chair, pressing her palms to her knees, "If it's such a horrific life, why leave me in it?" The man with no glasses opened his mouth to reply but said nothing. "You've known I was here for years. You knew all along. You knew what happened to my siblings and I; for five years you just watched. I- We were kids." She tried to steady her breath, hoped desperately that she wouldn't cry. "Who does that to kids?"

They didn't address her question, evidently upset and blindsided by such a stance. "You're making a mistake. You're a good person, why wouldn't you want to fight for nobility?"

She shook her head softly, "You've already taken my entire family. Please don't ask anything more of me."

"I'm afraid your biased understanding has clouded your judgement-"

"My judgement is just fine."

"Is it?" the man without glasses raised an eyebrow.

"I won't speak on my brother or sister's behalf, but I will speak on my own," she held her hand up, "All I want is quiet, not adventure, not vengeance, not… fealty. I can be noble in plenty of other ways without involving you."

"And you choose… _there_ of all places to begin?"  
"It's my home," she gestured out weakly, "ill-equipped, and messy, and the only thing you've let me have."

"Yes, but you must understand the… implications of such a choice."

"As well as you understood the implications of leaving me" A heat flared up in her chest, angry on behalf of her own past, "I'm sorry I didn't become as embittered as you had hoped. I'm no good at being a tragedy."

"You can promise good behavior all you want, but the same cannot be said of your… company."

"My husband?" She enjoyed the visceral discomfort on their faces at the word. "The man you left me with? I must be such a disappointment for you, neither a great ally nor a formidable enemy. I'm entirely useless to you." She shrugged, "So why not let me be useless?"

"You must understand-"  
"I understand this," feeling particularly emboldened by the turn of the conversation, she leaned in. "I understand that, for whatever reason, I have relative success in opposing him, which seems to be more than most people can say. Perhaps more surprisingly to you, I do not, in fact, have an agenda of heinousness, and am more than ready to do whatever possible to keep us out of each other's path. My house won't bother yours, and yours won't bother mine."

"For someone who claims to care about family, you're quick to leave them behind."

"How DARE you-" she began to stand, ready to fight, only barely managing to restrain herself. It was a fight she would lose. Best save it for later. Seething, she let out a slow breath. "Alright. Okay. For whatever reason, my brother and sister want to stay under your watch. That's fine, I won't try to press my own choices upon them. So long as it's their choice, I won't interfere. But believe me," she paused, taking the time to look each of them in the eye, "the moment, and I mean the MOMENT I have any reason to think that they have been hurt in ANY way, I will not hesitate to protect my family by any means necessary. Do you understand?"

"What do you think-"

"They're just kids."

"You're young yourself, you know."

Ignoring his comment, she pushed on. "And don't think that just because they're electing to stay that I'll let you retain care."

"Pardon?"

"After watching your hands-off approach, you'll understand if I'm reluctant to allow you to watch over them."

"And you think the matter is your choice?"

"There must be someone who can look after them, someone other than a faceless board of secret society members."

"You really have a dismal view of us, don't you? You've said it yourself, they want to stay."

"And once they don't? I don't want them getting lost. There must be some friend of our parents, a cousin we never met. An actual person who will actually do their job."

"Why not remove the middle-man, come yourself?"

"I'm not arguing that point again."

They fell to silence, the open air much too quiet.

"And what if we don't agree to your terms?"

"You'll have to kill me," she set her jaw, very much not bluffing. "If you want me to ever leave you alone, you'll have to kill me. I won't tell them to leave you, but if you refuse, I will absolutely tear them away."

The man without glasses leaned over, whispering to his partner. Sighing, the taller man removed his glasses, cleaning and replacing them.

"We'll compile a list of suitable candidates, but you are not to contact them."

"I'll leave them alone once I'm certain my conditions are met."

"You overestimate your power."

"You underestimate my ability to help you. Now, do we have a deal?" Staring them down, she willed herself not to blink.

The man with no glasses sighed. "What would your parents think?"

"I don't know," she straightened her back, keeping her lips tight, "I never got the chance to ask."

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AN-

Hello my darling heathens! We're getting dangerously close to the end here, which is absolutely bonkers. There's still a bit left, but it's wild to think we're nearing the actual end. Please keep sending me your thoughts, comments, creations, and questions; I love and cherish all of them (even the angry ones)! Sorry I don't have time to reply to all of them, but please don't take that to mean I don't appreciate them. I love you all, and you are very special to me. Cheers!


	63. Chapter 63

She had already made it mostly back by the time Mrs. Denouement caught up with her. The woman's fingers dug into the back of her coat, trying to catch her.

"Violet, wait!"

Irritated, she stopped, yanking the cloth from her hands, "What? What do you want?"

"I saw you leave, and- You came to see me?"

"Fucking awful company you keep."

"Don't mind them. Listen-"

"I don't want to listen anymore! I'm done listening, I'm-" crossing her arms, she stared off to the side in a huff. "I just wanted to say goodbye."

"Goodbye?" Her voice lilted into a question, curling the word.

"Yeah, so," Violet shrugged. "Bye." She had already turned to leave when the woman's hand came down upon her shoulder.

"Wait, just a minute, please."

"I'm not going to-"

"You do whatever the hell you want, okay? Just talk to me. Let me talk to you. I'm sorry you've been upset, I didn't-" taking a deep breath in, she released it slowly, pushing her glasses up, "Can we at least talk?"

"Okay." Without meaning to, she snapped the word, but at the look of hurt on the pretty woman, Mrs. Denouement's, face, she sighed, "Okay. Yes."

"Where were you running off to so quickly?" walking in the direction Violet had been heading, she began to keep pace with her.

"Home."

"Oh," she stopped mid-stride.

"Do you not-"

"No, it's fine, it's-"

"We can talk outside. He won't be home anyway, but if you don't mind, I don't think he'd particularly like it if I brought your lot in as guests."

"Do you worry often about what he likes?"

"Not particularly," Violet shrugged as they continued on their way. "There are very few things that fit the bill anyway; theater, whiskey, knives."

"You, evidently."

"Evidently. He's not hard to upset." They fell into an uneasy silence.

"So do you-"

"No, he doesn't scare me."

"Shouldn't he?"

"Perhaps. If I cared enough."

"Cared enough?"

"Yeah. I mean, what is he going to do to me that I haven't already been through? It's kind of nice, looking up from rock bottom."

"You don't have to-"

"I know." Again, they fell into silence, walking quietly until Violet was opening the back gate, beckoning her forward into the garden. "Sorry for all the… brown. Most everything's dead for now."

"It's fine." Still pointedly quiet, she sat on the ground beneath the tree. Uneasily, Violet sat beside her, listening to the harrowing silence.

"Listen-"

"It's interesting, how plants work, don't you think?" flexing her arms behind her, Mrs. Denoument leaned back. "How in order to grow, they have to die a little bit?"

"I suppose."

"I wonder if it feels like death, or if they know spring is coming again? Maybe it's both."

"I don't think-"

"I can imagine it would be terrifying, dying without being positive there will be a spring? If I were a plant, I might be tempted to stay wilted forever, if it meant not going fallow." She sighed, the slight twitch of her lip changing her face, just for a moment, into a display of grief.

"It isn't like that," quietly, Violet managed the words.

"It's perfectly understandable that you'd want to protect yourself, you know. No one could ever condemn you for that."

"I'm not protecting myself. I'm protecting them."

"By betraying them?"

"They wouldn't want me if they knew the truth."

"And what truth is that?"

Violet fell silent, unable to pull the words from her stomach.

She heard the sharp breath, the hiss of air as the pretty woman, Mrs. Denouement, breathed in, taking her glasses off as she massaged her eyes. "There are a lot of things you don't understand, Violet."

"Mrs. Denouement, I don't mean-"

"Kit. It's just the two of us, no need for formalities."

"Kit," she felt the heavy way the word flicked against the back of her teeth. "I don't mean to say I know everything, I simply…" Violet paused, tugging at a piece of grass, "I don't know what I mean. It's a bad idea. All of it. All the same, I can't live the rest of my life as a liar."

"I understand that, but Violet, there are things, big things, immense things, at play here. Questions you don't even know to ask and answers that won't make sense without them."

"Then tell me!"

"I can't. You aren't ready."

"I doubt I'll ever be."

"We can make you ready. Give us the chance, the time. You'll understand."

"What will understanding get me?" Violet looked at her, desperately wanting an answer. "Will understanding make any of it any better? I don't want to bother with things that don't help."

"There are so many things you don't know, Violet. I don't want to be the one to break your heart."

"Then why tell me at all? Why not let me be ignorant?"

"We tried," she shrugged, putting her glasses back on. "You didn't let us."

"I suppose not." Dropping the blade of grass she held, Violet shivered, pulling the thick sweater tighter around her. The air was cold, becoming stale with the scent of fallow earth.

"You're a smart girl, I know you're just trying to make the best decision, but you must understand that there are larger consequences that you cannot even begin to fathom."

"That's true of anything."

"Nothing is coincidence, Violet. Yes, we let things happen, but always with a clear before and after, always knowing the potentials of any choice we make. If you stay, you're not free, you're simply serving a different end. A treacherous end. One you're not ready for."

"It's never been about my freedom. That was never the point. Besides, what's my alternative? Am I supposed to trust your end? The one that left me behind?"

"We left you, yes, but we didn't bring you to it. This? This wasn't our choice. Given the opportunity, you would have been gone long before any of this ever started."

"So why didn't you?"

"You weren't ready."

"But my baby sister was?"

"It's different."

"How?"

"Violet…"

"No, please. Explain again why any of this was okay."

"It wasn't." Kit paused. "I'm sorry."

For a moment, the wave of relief almost pulled her under. Finally, finally, someone wasn't treating her like she was crazy. She was right; it wasn't okay. Someone else saw that, knew that. Violet nodded.

"Alright."

"Alright?" Kit regarded her suspiciously. "That's all you have to say?"

"Evidently."

"You're leaving your truth for comfort."

"I'm not. If you don't want to tell me my own secrets, that's fine. I don't care. But you can't ask me to let what I don't know dictate my life."

"You can know though, if you'd only come-"

"I won't sell myself again just for a chance to further my own pain. I don't need to know how things fell apart; it's too late."

"But don't you think you owe it to yourself? Give your heart some rest."

"You're trying to save something I've already amputated." Finally, Violet looked at her once again, wanting Kit to see the conviction in her eyes.

Kit nodded, quiet. "Alright."

"Alright."

Slowly, Kit stood, brushing the dirt from her pants, "Do yourself a favor. When you have questions, ask them. Don't let him lie to you." She paused, contemplating something. "Someday you'll ask the right things, will come back to us. When you do, we'll be ready to welcome you, but until then, I'm sure you'll be a formidable opponent."

Violet shook her head, "I'm not opposing you."

"Yes you are. You just don't know it yet; it's too murky for you to see."

Violet stood as well, her joints having grown stiff from sitting on the ground, "Am I to understand that I'm being actively opposed then?"

"No more than you necessitate."

"This isn't about me."

"Of course it is."

"This has nothing to do with what I want."

"Doesn't it?"

"No."

"Then what? Tell me."

"You can keep your secrets, but don't ask me for mine."

"Whatever you've done, it can't be worse than anything I've heard before."

"Your bar might be a bit lower than others."

"Regardless, this isn't a choice you have to make."

"I've spoken to your associates about how I want things settled with my siblings. For my parents' sake if not mine, make sure things are done proper. I don't want them trapped."

"And who will explain to them why you won't come yourself?"

Setting her jaw, she willed herself not to waver. The silence corroded her protective steel, leaving her feeling rather painfully exposed. "I don't want to be made into a bad person just because I refuse to sign myself over in entirety."

"No one asked for that."

"You're right, no one did ask. They demanded it."

"Don't think the side you've chosen demands any less."

"All I've chosen is to remove myself from your narrative, unanswered questions and all."

"You're a curious girl. Eventually you'll wonder about the names of the skeletons in his closet."

"Unless I don't ask."

"You will. Someday your Bluebeard will give you the key and you won't be able to resist."

"And until I prove weak I cannot be your friend?"

"You're abandoning us for the enemy."

"Perhaps I'm just made for abandonment." They fell into an uncomfortable silence, neither one able to be angry with the other, not really.

Silent, Kit took her into her arms, surrounding her in an embrace. They continued to say nothing, having nothing left to overcome the mourning sorrow of misplaced affection. Closing her eyes, Violet wondered if, had she been just a few days quicker, if that could have changed it all.

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AN-

Hello darling Heathens. I'm finally getting around to updating Shift (sorry I'm so bad at it) but as always, any of the drabbles can be found on the tumblr. I've also finished writing the last chapter which is... weird. Granted, I still have editing and everything to do, but it's weird, right? Kinda hate it. Not that I intend to let this account go quiet; I've got two other fics in the works that (hopefully) are gonna be pretty good. Writing this has been such a strange journey, but I like to think that I learned a lot and became a better writer for it, so there's that. As always, please please please continue sending me your comments/questions/complaints! I love love love hearing from yall. Thank you dearly, and Cheers


	64. Chapter 64

That night she cried against his neck.

Not knowing what to say, he didn't say anything at all, just let her ruin his shirt as he held her in their bed, her fingers hot against his chest. She continued crying even as he kissed the top of her head, stroked her back, shushed her quietly. Eventually the sobs turned to hiccups, but still she cried, all Niobe undone. Silent, he brushed at her, untangling himself from her long enough to get a wet cloth for her to cool her flushed face with. She continued to cry into the towel, kept crying as he took off his wet shirt, began to undo the buttons of her dress.

She let him get her out of her clothes, pulling off her shoes, her dress, her socks. She hadn't the energy to feel shame, just the exhaustion that comes from a long cry without any of the relief. For a moment she wondered if she might drown. Soft, he began to pull her arms through the sleeves of a shirt, trying to direct her movements carefully. Cooperating, she tugged the shirt around her shoulders, letting it hang open, not particularly caring about her exposed skin; there was no way for her to ever be as naked as she felt.

"You're fine," he stroked her back, trying to quiet her down. Holding her cheek in his hand, he kissed her forehead, "Want a drink?"

"No."

"I'll make you a drink." Leaving the room, he left her behind, gracing her with a moment of quiet wherein she could try to catch her breath.

Returning with a full bottle of wine, he pressed the already filled glass into her hands, watching as she took a sip, still flushed but no longer crying. Wordlessly, they sat together upon the bed, both entirely alone.

Resituating himself, he pulled her between his knees so that she leaned against him, letting him pet her hair back. They remained in silence until the bottle was gone, her heart rate slowed and thoughts fuzzy.

"I wish I were dead," she spoke the words quietly, without the slightest emotion beyond genuine exhaustion.

"No you don't," kissing the top of her head, he brushed his hands over her arms.

"I do."

"No, you don't. You just wish you did."

"How would you know?"

"Because I know there's no getting between you and what you want."

"Apparently there is. There's nothing I could do, there's nothing…" picking up the empty bottle, she stared at it vacantly.

"Well, killing yourself certainly won't help. In fact, it would inconvenience me greatly." She didn't laugh at his joke, still staring at the empty bottle. He sighed. "This is why there are things I don't tell you. You aren't ready for all of it."

"That's what Kit said."

"Yes," he rested his chin on the top of her head, "she says a lot of things."

"She said the consequences were worse than I could imagine."

"I doubt that. You have a quite large imagination."

"Will they hurt them?"

"No," he brushed the hair back from her forehead. "They aren't in the habit of killing useful volunteers. Especially not young ones. And like you said, there's nothing left to be taken away. You're welcome for that."

"Oh my god…" closing her eyes, she felt her heart fracture, sinews tearing to allow it to fall pierced upon her ribs. Clenching everything in her body, she willed herself not to throw up.

"They'll be fine. Well, fine is relative, but they'll be fine."

"I ruined it. I ruined everything."

"You haven't ruined anything. It's not your fault you were the only one to escape," he kissed the top of her head again. Not having the vocabulary for her own destruction, she fell silent, septic in her failures. Trapped within a vacant body, she counted the beats of his heart, trying to find something to cling to.

"It's over."

"Doesn't have to be."

"It is."

"It's been survived before, it'll be survived again," his heart quickened beneath her.

"What do you mean?"

Biding his time, he kissed the top of her head, "The whisking away, the interruptions and guiltings and kidnappings."

"I don't understand."

"Do you think your family was the first?" He ran his hand through her hair.

"I mean, I never really-"

"Please. You were just unfortunate enough to be born into the cycle. You weren't the first, and you certainly won't be the last."

"You mean-"

"There'll be more."

"Oh my god." She closed her eyes, felt her own pain stretch on into the infinite.

"More fires, more orphans. More tragedy."

"And they-"

"They'll be waiting. Plenty of beds to go around."

"I- I told you, I don't want to be involved." Even as she said it, she felt her conviction waver.

"I know, I know," he kissed the top of her head again. "Believe me, the last thing I want is for you to get caught up in it."

"Just- How the hell-"

"I don't know, Darling. I don't know."

"And you-"

"Don't worry about it."

"But they will-"

"They'll do what they want. Always have."

"And the kids?"

He shrugged. "Nothing to be done."

"Nothing?"

"That's how it is, sometimes." Rubbing her arms in what should have been a soothing manner, he kissed her temple. "Forget I said anything."

"Oh, sure. I'll get right on that," she muttered, still feeling the acid of his words in the back of her throat.

"You can see though why we-"

"I don't want to be involved."

"Of course. Of course." He sighed, resting his lips against her head. "Like I said, I wouldn't let you, even if you wanted."

"Although-"

"Yes?"

"Not that I want to get into it, but…"

"But?"

"Why isn't there anyone to intervene?"

"Intervene?"

"There must be something stopping kids from being handed off like used luggage."

"Law is tricky, Dear. You ought to know that."

"Yes, but suppose…"

"Suppose what?"

"Nevermind." She leaned her head back against him. "Just a thought."

"Alright." Though she couldn't see it, he smiled as he kissed her head again.

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AN-

Hello my lovely Heathens!

Updating a bit early this week. As a reminder, I have a Ko-Fi account where you can commission short drabbles and personal fics should the fancy strike you. Message me here or on the tumblr if you'd like more information about that. Sorry to yank yall back into the angst, but you really ought to have expected it by now. As always, please please please send me your thoughts, fears, and incoherent yells. I live for the drama.

Have a good week, and

Cheers!


	65. Chapter 65

The next morning, her head was heavy, filled with lead when she finally awoke. She was still pressed tight to his chest, curled against his side, pathetic even in sleep. Not wanting to get up, she remained where she lay, letting her thoughts gather themselves. Why did her head hurt? The wine. No… The crying. Crying. She was sad, why was she sad? She- Swallowing hard, she closed her eyes, feeling the white-hot searing pain all over again. It felt as if a part of her had been cauterized, her chest light with the empty space left behind. Gingerly, she brushed her hand up to cover his heart, feeling the slow thrum. This was it; this right here was her choice. She was suddenly glad she wasn't able to see herself; she didn't think she'd be able to stand the sight.

His hand raised to cover her own, holding her fingers as he kissed the top of her head, her forehead, her nose. She let him, just glad someone could still touch her, offering no resistance as he kissed her lips, tilting her face up towards his. Rolling onto his side, he kissed her mouth, her jaw, her neck, her sighs falling soft against him as he lazily moved her until she was flat on her back. Gently persistent, he brushed his hands over her legs, his breath growing rougher with each movement.

For her own part, she just held onto him, desperately clinging to the splintered driftwood of her humanity as he touched her, shutting her eyes to the lovely pain of being wanted. Even as he parted her knees, climbed on top of her, she didn't say anything, having nothing at all left to say. The best she could do now was silence.

He kissed her throat, hands pressed to her ribs as he held her much too gently, "Still tired?"

"Yes," she only half-lied.

"Should I stop?"

"No," breaking her grip behind his neck, she tucked her fingers into his hair,

"Do you want to-"

"Please don't stop."

"Alright," she could hear the grin in his voice, felt his smile in the way his teeth pressed to her neck. Tucking her face against his shoulder, she breathed in the scent of his skin, tried to ground herself in this feeling, this moment. Letting her fingers rake down his back, she held him all the tighter, hoping to negate anything else. He was here, he was real, he wanted her.

He groaned when he slid inside her. She tightened her grip, glad when his fingers dug into her skin. She hoped it left bruises, handprints she could see in the mirror later when she went to shower. He kissed her jaw. She dug her nails into him. Reflexively, he nipped the skin, leaving what was sure to be a dark spot. She breathed her lungs empty.

By the time she came down from her shower, he had already prepared the coffee. She slid into her seat, very noticeably wearing the robe he had bought her. He smiled.

"Still hot," he placed the cup before her, kissing her wet hair. Leaning into the touch, she wrapped her fingers around the coffee gratefully. "Careful. Don't burn yourself."

"It's fine," she blew on it before taking a sip.

Sitting again, he tried his best not to stare. She was his, well and truly his. From now on, she would stay, would be his wife. With an infinite pride, he watched her lips curl over the rim of the cup, her eyes watching something far beyond the wall.

"Sleep well?"

"Hmm?" Startled, she turned to look at him, as if having forgotten he was there.

"Did you sleep well?"

"Yes," she looked away again.

"You wouldn't stop turning."

"Did I?" looking at him, she drew her shoulders in, resting her elbows against the table. "Sorry."

"Not a problem. I just wasn't sure if I ought to kick you out to the couch again." She didn't reply. "That was a joke."

"I know," looking back to him, she managed an inauthentic smile.

"Right." Slowly, he drummed his fingers against the table. Apparently fine with the silence, she offered no follow-up. "So…" trailing off awkwardly, he fidgeted with his cup.

"So?"

"I've done something, haven't I?"

"No," she shook her head, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

"Are you certain? Because the last time you got quiet, things did not end well for me."

"Not everything is about you."

"Sure, sure, of course. But most of it is."

"I'm tired, is all."

"Is it?"

"No," she shook her head.

"Then what have I done?"

"Don't worry, I'll be fine."

"Violet-"

"Listen to me," standing up, she walked over to him, closing the space between them with a gentle touch to his cheek, "it's fine."

"Is it?"

"Yes," fighting through a second smile, she let him wrap his arms behind her, pulling her close until his head rested against her chest. Ever soft, she stroked his hair back, letting her fingers brush against him.

"If I didn't know better, I'd be afraid."

"You do know better though; don't you?"

"Perhaps." Catching her wrist, he kissed her palm.

"I'm here, aren't I?"

"Are you?"

"Yes," taking her hand from his, she tilted his face up, kissed his lips. "Do you still want me?"

"I still want you."

"Then you have your answers. If I didn't know better, I'd call you a coward."

"Oh, please," smiling now, he kissed her back, pressing warm, chaste kisses to her lips, "you ought to know that wanting you is a terrifying act."

"Is it?"

"Terrifying and delightful." Standing now, he knotted his fingers into her hair, sighing against the softness of her mouth. "You are not an easy love."

"But?"

"But damn it if you aren't worth it."

"Is it? Worth it?"

"My Dear," he kissed her again, grateful for the push of her lips against his, "it is everything."

"You're so damn dramatic," curling her fingers around his forearms, she smiled.

"Yes, well. Not much that can be done about that."

"You're the most vain creature in the world, do you know that?"

"If the world had half my talent and laurels, they would feel the same."

"Oh, I'm sure."

Relieved, he drank in the sound of her sigh as he held her to his chest.

"Oh!" quick, she kissed him again firmly. "I'd almost forgotten."

"Forgotten what?"

"For the coffee."

"Ah, of course," smiling, he kissed her back, feeling the way she eased slowly off her toes, making him follow her down, hands still caught in her burnt-hickory dark hair. "Are you going to cut it again?" lightly, he tugged at the scruffy ends.

She smirked, "Haven't made up my mind yet."

"Let it grow. I like it long."

"Maybe I'll cut it then."

"Fair enough. So long as you're thinking of me, I can't lose I suppose."

Kissing him one more time, she lay her head against his chest, letting him hold her quietly, pressing his lips to the top of her head.


	66. Chapter 66

For a moment he considered slamming the door. He hadn't expected to see her again until… well, ever.

"Missed me that much?" His mouth curled into a smirk, both angry and pleased. It was strange how thoroughly the mind betrayed itself.

"Where's Violet?" Kit's lips flexed taunt, just barely managing to hold back what could either be a smile or a scowl.

"That's none of your concern," leaning his arm against the door frame, he placed his other hand upon his hip, looking down on her haughtily as he blocked her path. God, he remembered dreaming of the day he'd finally outgrow her. It seemed eons ago.

"I'm not here to steal her, Olaf. Just let me talk to her."

"What? Is kidnapping ignoble now?" Raising his eyebrow, he feigned shock. "What news."

"Yes, very nice moral high ground you've got there."

"Oh, please. I never claimed to be moral."

"Where is she?"

"She doesn't want to speak to you."

"Don't be a stubborn bastard."

"I'd appreciate it if you didn't disrespect me in my own home, Snicket."

"I'm outside your home."

"Quite. I'm afraid if I let you in, I'd never get the stench out."

"I just want to talk."

"Just talk?" he cocked his eyebrow innocently. "Well of course, that's not dangerous at all."

"I swear, if you don't-"

"If you think I am going to let you-"

"Hi, hello, yes," ducking beneath his arm, Violet appeared, "I'm here."

Frowning, he looked down at her, surprised. "Don't you-"

"It's fine. Kit, come in," taking his arm, she tugged him out of the way, gesturing into the foyer. Obviously irritated, he glared down at Kit, following her with his eyes as she took a few tentative steps in.

"You seem… well." Looking around, Kit was actually pretty surprised at how well-kept the house was. Must be Violet's work; she knew only too well how he liked to let things accumulate.

"Can I get you anything? Coffee? Tea? Water?"

"We don't feed our enemies in this house."

"I'm fine, thanks," she spoke at the same time as him, having had the same thought. "I don't mean to take up too much of your time. I just wanted to speak with you." She threw him a pointed glance. "Privately."

"About?"

"Your siblings."

"Is everything alright?" She could see Violet's grip on his arm tighten.

"Can we please speak privately?"

Hesitantly, Violet looked over at Olaf, at his unblinking, rigid stance, "I don't-"

"This only concerns you."

"Alright." Unsnaking her arm from his, she gave him a silent, telling glance. Just as wordless, he turned to leave, pausing only long enough to slide a hand beneath her jaw, tilting her face up, kissing her much more deeply than the situation necessitated. Giving Kit one more silent stare, he walked into the next room, brooding angrily.

"Sorry, I-" sitting down, Violet smoothed out her dress awkwardly, "I wish I had a proper excuse."

"It's fine," Mrs. Denouement waved her apology off.

"So, is something wrong, or-"

"We've found a guardian."

"Oh?" blinking, Violet stared at her, trying to read her inscruitible gaze, simultaneous serene and pissed. "Who- Where- Are you allowed to-"

"He's your father's cousin's brother-in-law, and while he doesn't live in the city," Kit sighed, handing her a small slip of paper, "he's close enough to be a good compromise."

"Is that… That doesn't seem particularly close… at all…" trying to do the math in her head, Violet spoke slowly, unsure how they were actually related to this man, if at all.

"It's tenuous, but," Kit shrugged, "these are tenuous times."

"And do I- Can I-"

"I can't stop you from meeting him. Although, technically," leaning in, Kit stared intently into her eyes, "I'm not supposed to be here. Do you understand?"

Overwhelmed with a sudden burst of love, Violet nodded, "Thank you," gently, she reached out, taking her hand.

Smiling a pinched smile, Kit cleared her throat, recomposing herself. "Yes, well. I'm trusting you with this."

"I understand," clutching Mrs. Denouement's hands, Violet held them tight. "Thank you. When do they-"

"Already done. Don't worry," she interrupted Violet's almost-protest, seeing the fear in her eyes. "He was a good friend of your parents. They'll be well cared-for."

"And if I were to… somehow… find them, would they be relocated?"

"I can only recommend you be careful."

"Fair enough," letting go of her, they fell into silence.

"And you?" Kit cleared her throat.

"Pardon?"

"You're-"

"Fine," this time, it was Violet's turn to offer a tight-lipped smile. "Things are fine."

"That's good, if unexpected."

"I apologize again, for his-"

"Don't apologize for him. I just wish you had regret enough to leave."

"It's not like that," Violet shook her head.

"Isn't it?"

"I didn't know you both were so well acquainted."

"Yes, well," sighing, she glanced about, distracted, "we all have pasts."

"I suppose so?" Quirking an eyebrow up, Violet watched her.

"I should go." Standing, Kit gestured towards the door.

"So soon?" there was genuine regret on Violet's face as she stood.

"Shouldn't even be here, you know." Kit laughed a false laugh. "The less you see me, the easier things are for both of us."

"Of course. I cannot thank you enough; you cannot possibly understand-"

"Oh, please," taking her hand, Mrs. Denouement smiled sadly, "I understand entirely. Although, if- when you decide-"

Rather than letting her finish, Violet pulled her into a hug, holding her tightly. Treacherous, her heart beat within her, making her sorry that despite it all, it hadn't been enough.

..

...

..

AN-

Hello dearest darling Heathens. So we've officially passed the one year anniversary of Conviction, which is absolutely wild to me. Unfortunately, that also means that the end is nigh. In the next week I'm going to be doing my damndest to clear out any prompts I still have, and potentially post the opening for at least one of the fics I have in the works? It's all being juggled up in the air right now, so we'll see how it goes. Until then, all of my thanks and love go to yall for your patience with me and continued willingness to listen to the story I'm telling. Thank you, and Cheers


	67. Chapter the Last

"What did she want?" he uncrossed and re-crossed his arms irritatedly.

"Don't worry about it," humming quietly, she put a pot of water on to boil.

"Don't worry? That sounds awful treacherous."

"You promised to stay out of my affairs," accusatory, she pointed at him, eyebrow cocked.

"Oh, but Countess," he affected an offensively sweet tone, taking her hand and pressing it to his chest, "your problems are my problems, don't you remember?"

"Yes, well. I'll tell you later if I feel like it."

"If you feel like it?"

"Yes."

"Not sure I like you and her being in collusion."

"Doesn't matter much if you don't like it, does it?"

"Doesn't it?"

"You're all upset over nothing." Pulling her hand from his, she reached into the cabinet, pulling down a wine glass.

"Didn't you just put the water on?"

"Watched pots never boil, you ought to know that. I've got time."

"Quite," walking up behind her, he pulled down a glass for himself before wrapping his arms around her waist, kissing her neck. "How much time are we talking?"

Sighing, she leaned into the touch, filling the glasses. "You're so needy; do you know that?"

"I simply ask for what I think I deserve."

"You think you deserve the world."

"Your point being?"

Smiling, she turned to face him, cupping his cheek as she moved to her toes, kissing him, "You vain bastard."

"Watch the tone."

"Sorry. My vain bastard."

"Better," kissing her back, he smiled. "Although, if you think all of this has made me forget that you're snuggling up with my enemy-"

"It has nothing to do with you! Let it alone."

"I won't."

"What? All of a sudden you don't like playing 'keep secrets' when you're on the outside?"

"I just worry that I'm going to have to come and save your sorry ass again."

"Then don't."

"You know I will."

"I know," lacing her arms behind his neck, she kissed him again. "Stubborn idiot."

"What can I say? I take care of what's mine."

"And even with my dastardly collusions, I'm still yours?"

"Of course," he kissed her back, "My dastardly wife. Terrible Violet. So beautiful and cruel."

"Cruel?"

"And beautiful."

"You're impossible."

"Sometimes I think you get into trouble just so that I can save you."

"Oh, yes?"

"Of course," smirking, he rubbed her back, holding her against him. "My imprudent Countess."

"You're feeling particularly kind."

"What can I say?" taking her hand, he kissed the back of it, "You're easy to adore."

"Quite." Pulling her hand away, she turned from him, filling their glasses with the closest opened bottle of wine. "You know this won't trick me into telling you, right?"

"Why not?" Exhausted, he leaned back against the counter, gesturing out in despair.

"You're so fucking paranoid," shaking her head, she took a sip from her glass.

"It doesn't count as paranoia if it's justified." Lifting his own glass, he took a deep drink. "Also- Language."

"I've told you; it's nothing."

"I still don't like it."

"Well," patting his arm patronizingly, she smiled, "maybe some unhappiness would do you some good."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"It means you're spoiled," carefully, she hid a smirk behind her glass.

"Oh?" Cocking his eyebrow, he straightened up, looking down at her. "Spoiled, am I? You're one to talk."

"Don't even try that."

"Just because I always get what I want doesn't mean I don't earn it through thievery and cunning."

"Spoiled."

"I work very hard to maintain my lifestyle, and you-"

"Spoiled."

"-shouldn't be talking, you freeloader."

"Freeloader? How did you pay for all of this, again?" Tilting her head, she looked at him meaningfully.

"And what have you contributed since then?"

"I more than earn my keep just by putting up with you."

"Oh yes? Is that what that is?"

"You absolute bastard," shaking her head, she drained the glass, placing it down upon the counter. "I'll leave you, you know."

"Oh, will you?" Smirking, he laced his arms behind her, pulling her to his chest.

"Yes," forcing a frown, she straightened out his lapels.

"Let me guess. I'll say the wrong thing, and you'll throw a few plates at my head?"

"Seems likely."

"Storm out the door with the mind to never come back?"

"Absolutely."

"How far do you think you'd get before I caught up?"

"Only a block or two. Your legs are longer."

"I'd scoop you back up, carry you in my arms like a new bride."

"More likely over your shoulder like a bastard."

"Bring you back inside-"

"Drop me down on the nearest available surface."

"Apologize until my tongue bled."

"That sounds rather out-of-character, don't you think?"

"I wouldn't mean it, of course."

"Oh, of course."

"But you'd be charmed enough anyway."

"Unlikely. I'd say something sharp and cutting, just to make you angry."

"It would work. So I'd kiss you just to piss you off."

"I'd bite you."

"Which would definitely work, but not in the way you had planned."

"Who said that wasn't what I had planned?"

"Good point."

"I'd make sure you knew just what you were giving up."

"Then I'd kiss you until you were sorry, until you were begging for me to take you back."

"It wouldn't work."

"Then I'd settle for you begging for me to touch you."

"That would take quite a while."

"I've got time."

"Evidently."

"I'd lay you out-"

"Floor, couch, or bed?"

"Dealer's choice."

"Bed. As soon as you'd dropped me, I'd have stormed upstairs."

"Good point. I'd lay you out-"

"Yes?"

"-slowly work you out of those clothes-"

"Yes?"

"-stop and kiss every single bare inch of skin-"

"And then?"

"And then-"

The kettle whistled, interrupting him. Both of them looked at it, startled. Moving quick, she flicked the burner off, placing the pot to the side. The moment shattered, they watched it in silence, the steam slowly drifting upwards in curls and waves.

"And then?" Her voice was quiet, reticent, her face still turned from his.

"And then I'd tell you the truth."

"Which is?"

"That I love you," tilting her face towards his, he brushed the hair back from her forehead, behind her ear.

"Yes?" Catching his wrist, she held his hand to her face.

"Yes."

"Would I believe you?"

"Would you?"

"Yes," melancholic, her expression softened ever so slightly.

Leaning down, he kissed her, tasted the conviction in her words, all tied up with the wine.

He kissed her, and it was blissful oblivion. For a moment she thought she might cry, wondered how any person could possibly feel so much, all at once. Even with the emptied space in her chest, there hardly seemed room. Easing off her toes, she broke the kiss, keeping her hands against his neck. Smirking again, ever gloating, he held her to his chest, swaying slowly.

"I know you hate it when I give you gifts-"

"Only because you're so shit at it."

"-but maybe we ought to invest in getting you a nicer ring," taking her hand from his shoulder, he held her fingers.

Emphatic, she shook her head, "I don't want that."

"A nice ruby. Large and daunting," he kissed her knuckles, still leading her in a lazy almost-waltz.

"Okay, I'm getting now that my opinion doesn't factor into the matter."

"Think of it as a present for me. Let me take care of you."

"Is this your idea of taking care of me?"

"It absolutely is. My dear, you were made to be outfitted in silks and diamonds."

"You're confusing me with yourself again."

"Silks and diamonds and nothing else."

"Oh, yes?" she laughed in disbelief, "Is this your latest fantasy?"

"Well, if we're talking fantasy, we can compromise. An enormous library with a feather mattress right in the middle."

"You're a very singular man."

"I know what I like," shrugging, he stopped swaying, pulling her back into a kiss.

"Diamonds and rubies and naked women?"

"Yes, but also you." Quick as ever, he lifted her behind her thighs, lacing his arms beneath her as he held her to his chest.

Trying to hide her own amusement, she smiled in resignation, only laughing when he turned in a quick circle, spinning her.

"Stop it- I'll fall!"

"Nonsense," tutting, he kissed her, turning as if to carry her from the room. "You know I wouldn't allow that."

"The water will get cold!"

"Let it," kissing her again, he smiled.

"You impossible man!" Clinging to his shoulders, she kissed him back, still putting on a rather poor facade of irritation.

"You've all the time in the world, Countess. Why not lend me some of it?"

"Is that all you want? My time?" she let the disbelief ring through her tone.

"I often find most good things follow from that, so, yes." Again, he kissed her, the stubborn thing.

"And what do you intend to do with the time I give you?"

"Adore you," he kissed her. "Give you shit gifts. Maybe fight a little."

"Oh, yes?" she smiled as he placed her back on the floor. "Sounds like a full schedule."

"Planned out to the minute."

"Any room for me to make a suggestion?"

"Of course."

Smiling, she took his hands, stretching up to kiss him, all certainty and vapid courage as she pulled him behind her through the door.

..

...

..

AN-

My dearest, darling, beautiful, wonderful, Heathens,

Holy crap- You made it! It's done! We survived it! Wow.

It's been over a year since I started this book alone, and over a year and a half since I started writing the series at all, and my god. If anyone told me that my first ever fic was going to spiral into a nearly 300,000 word monstrosity with a mini-cult following... I kinda doubt I'd have even started, because first of all, I'd think they were making fun of me, but also because that sounds like way too much work. And for such a weirdly niche fandom too. Who knew the Count Olaf fuckers were the wholesome ones? Go figure.

I've said it before and I'll definitely say it again- nothing at all could have ever prepared me for the sheer amount of love and support I've experienced while writing this. Seriously, I don't think I've been so validated so often since, well, ever. I could not have asked for a more lovely, kind, and talented group of people to help me grow as a writer. I just meant for this to be a small little side-project, but it's developed into something that I'm actually proud of, and I could not have done that without all yall's comments and suggestions and patience with my steep, steep learning curve, let alone just the act of READING it. Wow. Just. My god. I am utterly blown away by the experiences this has given me, and I cannot thank y'all enough.

And of course, I'm talking like this is all over, which it isn't. I'll still be updating and working on Shift, and enough people have been banging their hands on the table demanding more Kitlaf that it is very likely that it will probably maybe show up somewhere eventually in the nearish future. We'll see how it goes. Until then I've got other fics that I'm eager to start on/continue, and I, once again, cannot thank yall enough for the gift you have given me in letting me have this foray into the community.

This is getting long, so I'll wrap it up. As always, please please please send me your thoughts, emotions, angst, confusion, art- anything and everything! I love love love talking to yall! And thank you, one last time, for wanting to listen to the story I was telling.

Thank you, and

Cheers


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